


Detention

by SunlitGarden



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Best Friends, Canon Related, Canon-Typical Drama, Detention, Dry Orgasm, F/M, First Kiss, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Fluff and Smut, Friends to Lovers, Friendship/Love, Humor, Investigations, Mutual Pining, Spanking, Trapped In A Closet, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-14
Updated: 2019-01-04
Packaged: 2019-09-17 22:00:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 24,917
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16982571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SunlitGarden/pseuds/SunlitGarden
Summary: Betty and Jughead end up in detention after an investigation attempt gone wrong...and then gone very, very right.





	1. Rebel

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Smudge](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Smudge/gifts).



> Happy birthday to Smudge aka [thetaoofbetty](https://thetaoofbetty.tumblr.com). We vent. We laugh. We spent a late night giddy with the thought of Bughead in detention and it's her birthday so now she's gonna get it. This is slightly AU but generally canon-ish up to episode 4ish?5ish? You get the idea.

The door seems much more inviting delicately kept at bay with Jughead’s slender fingers. He bows, the corner of his mouth twitching. “Betts.”

She shoots him a wry smile. That’s a lot of formality for a Saturday morning. He's pretty neat too, freshly laundered and hair just slightly damp from a shower. “Thanks, Jug.”

“It’s the least I can do.”

She moves towards a desk at the front of the room, aware of the swagger he’s shifted into behind her. It’s not his usual “ _I’m walking here, don’t fucking touch me”_ slouch. It’s the _untouchable_ one, the " _I dare you"_ mood he gets into when he saunters in to question a witness. It sends a little thrill down her spine.

Good cop, bad cop.

They’re a _team_.

Before he can make a grand gesture about the desks, Betty settles in the front row, off to the right.

“Betty. You’re killing me here,” he sighs, glancing at the entire empty assortment they have to choose from.

“No one’s _making_ you sit next to me.”

He makes a little noise in the back of his throat that she considers teasing him about being ungentlemanly. Lately she’s been kinda fascinated by his Adam’s apple, the way his neck curves out when he’s tired, shrinks in when he’s thinking. It elongates, stretching to the side as he drags his bag over her his shoulder and drops it at the end desk on the other side of her. His work thuds to the ground with the heaviness of implied duty. _Best friends forever_ , she smiles to herself, trying to suppress the wistfulness at the insinuation.

They’re just early enough that she doesn’t feel that itch under her nails. Two minutes. That’s enough time to set up shop and get her head in the right place for this kind of thing. Without even thinking about it, she pulls out the large rattling bag of trail mix she’d packed for the two of them.

“Is this considered contraband?”

He looks entirely too amused, especially for not having opened his coffee thermos yet (the one she gave him last year, blue and gray, to match his sherpa jacket, his eyes, and his beanie).

“Why are you whispering? No one else is here yet.”

“I don’t know! I didn’t think you’re supposed to talk during detention.”

“You’re a rebel now, Cooper. You can do _anything_.”

His tongue slicks against his teeth, conspiratorial and reaching. She’s pretty sure he’s just hungry for the bag in her hands, but maybe…

The door unlatching snaps Betty’s attention to the front of the room. Reggie fits what she expected someone in detention to look like. Greasy, bed-ridden hair. Sunglasses slightly askew, like they’re more for a hangover than general glare. Sweatpants. Generally grumbly attitude. Slightly ripe. “Well if it isn’t Buffy and Xander, here to serve time for fighting monsters after bedtime. How are we feeling this morning?”

Preparing an eye roll, Betty hands the snack mix to her right and hopes she doesn’t hear any complaints about the chocolate-to-pretzel ratio. “Fine, Reggie.”

The silly pop culture names have rarely bothered her. Buffy’s awesome. She slays. She’s a cheerleader. She’s a blonde who subverts expectations. It’s the slightly derogatory references he always picks for Jughead that set her on edge. _Xander_? The brunette best friend who can’t take a hint? The only one without powers? Arming himself with zingers against the hell that is high school? That’s what Reggie probably knows about him, anyway. She doubts he’s analyzed the intrinsic value of friendship…that Xander’s the only one who was able to bring one of his friends back from the brink of darkness and destruction. All because of a yellow crayon.

Jughead’s staring at her. She wipes whatever thought he’s reading off her face out of her mind, lining up her pencils and notebooks right where she needs them.

“You know you’re supposed to sit at least one desk apart.”

Immediately, Jughead leans further towards her desk. “We got into this together, so we’re going to spend the rest of it together. Kind of like you and your natural musk,” Jughead starts, like vague insults will somehow get through Reggie’s machismo better.

Betty’s brain lingers on the word _together,_ trying to fit it into a puzzle she’s not sure exists.

Reggie isn’t invested in a comeback without an audience of like-minded individuals, so he rolls his eyes, swinging into the seat directly next to Betty. Jughead sits up straighter as if in protest. If they _do_ end up needing to move, it’s Betty who will be displaced.

“What happened to _one seat apart_?”

“Relax, Jones, I’m not staying. I have a note from Coach Clayton that I have to be in practice,” he mutters, slumping forward so his face rests on his fist.

“You have to be there the entire length of detention?” She’s not sure if she feels bad for him or is just dubious about the length of time they really need him for football practice. It seems strange that for the next few months he has a built-in excuse to avoid any actual punishment. Unfair, and possibly ineffective, too. Much like Riverdale’s judicial system.

“Don’t worry. Jones and I have had our share of detention dates.” Her eyebrow arches. _Detention dates?_ Jughead scowls over at him, one foot going up on the side of her chair as if to keep them united. At the subtle squeak of metal, Reggie glances over, eyebrows raised and smirk blooming with mischief. “But I wouldn’t mind spending a Saturday with you, Cooper. Whaddya say? Pop’s later?”

Is he seriously asking her out just to annoy Jughead? “No thanks.”

“Why not?” Reggie twists in his seat, watching them a little more curiously. “You and Jones have a thing? Or did Archie finally—“

“Because you’re an ass,” she says with a little more conviction than strictly necessary. “And if we’re being honest, you could really use a shower.”

There’s a moment of appreciative silence.

“You know…the boy’s locker room is just around the corner if you’re that invested in helping me with my hygiene.”

“Oh my god,” she scowls, fulling turning to face Jughead. _Anything_ for a distraction. He begrudgingly stops glaring at Reggie, expression softening as it lands on her face. Her heart beats hard, once, like it’s knocking to get out, before she can reign it in to normalcy. “So I was thinking about the letters, and they _have_ to be some kind of smoke screen. The handwriting doesn’t match, and—”

Reggie lifts his head. “Wait. Are you guys talking about the Blossom thing?”

Betty purses her lips, trying not to sound annoyed. She supposes anyone could know something. Even Reggie. “Sort of, yes.” Letting her teeth graze her lip, Betty considers her next move. “You knew Jason pretty well, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Is there anything…that might be a clue to what led up to his disappearance?”

“And subsequent murder?” Jughead adds with a hint of morning-time gruffness. She has to bite down an inappropriate smile. It’s not _that_ exciting. Something about that octave of his voice just makes her want to hold her breath.

Hair wrecked, squinting behind his sunglasses, Reggie glares at them. “You do realize it’s like 8 a.m.?”

“Never too early for a murder.”

_Jughead!_ She shoots him a look. He raises one shoulder, _what?_

_Stop weirding out and vaguely threatening the sources_ , she tries to communicate psychically. But he seems to understand her, rolling his eyes and taking it down a notch so she can run lead.

“We’re just…trying to figure out what happened. If you know something…” Reggie’s gaze darts away, burying his face in his arms so they can’t see his mouth. A tell. “I promise we won’t judge you…or turn you in. We just want the truth, and for Jason to get his justice. You’d want the same for any Bulldog, right?”

Betty’s hand tentatively reaches for his shoulder, warm even through the thin texture of his warm-up jersey. Reggie’s chin jerks up in surprise, expression strangely yearning, and she wonders if he ever gets this kind of touch. A sympathetic one.

Maybe he would if he wasn’t such an ass most of the time.

“I don’t know anything about his murder. He was a really good quarterback.”

“And a good friend.”

Staring at the floor, Reggie nods. He glances past her shoulder, lip tugging down in a frown. “I’ll talk to _you_ Cooper, but I don’t want _Donnie Darko_ involved in my business.”

Mildly offended, Jughead tucks his neck back, darting a glance at Betty.

“Jughead is my partner in this. I promise we won’t judge you.”

“Yeah, right.”

“Okay,” she amends, pursing her lips and sharing a longer, level look with Jughead. “We promise to handle this with sensitivity. I know how much Jason meant to you, and you would never want anything bad to happen to him.” She should turn back to Reggie, but her gaze lingers on Jughead. On the soft curls falling out under his beanie. The way his lips just-barely part when he’s listening to her. The curiosity in his eyes when she doesn’t look away fast enough. “We don’t want to get you in trouble and definitely don't want to attach your name to anything that might implicate you. We just want to find his murderer and make things a little safer around here.”

“Is that why you broke into the Records Office?”

Back straightening, Betty retracts her hand. It irks her that their school is so small that everyone would already know about it, and yet _nobody_ has a real clue about Jason Blossom. “We were trying to find records of altercations, or if he’d been caught trying to sell things to—“

“Sell things?” Reggie sits up, arms folded on his desk. “What kinds of things?”

Glancing at Jughead for a nod, she turns back to Reggie. “Trev said for a few weeks leading up to his disappearance, Jason was trying to sell off possessions to make an extra buck. Was there any reason he might be hard up for cash? It’s kind of hard to believe, considering—“

“ _Trev_ ,” Reggie grins, leaning back with a weird amount of satisfaction on his face. Betty bristles. “That’s right. You two went on a date.”

Jughead exhales loudly through his nose.

She can feel heat creeping up her neck. “It wasn’t…a _date_ date. We just went to Pop’s.”

“Is that the real reason you can’t go out with me?”

“No. You’re an ass, who still needs to shower. Now as I was saying—“

“Let's trade, Coop. You go on a non-date date with me, and I’ll tell you what I know about Jason.”

The insinuation strikes her as _wildly_ inappropriate.

“Get bent, Reginald,” Jughead scowls. “Do you really have to blackmail girls to get them to go out with you?”

“Consider it _enticement_ ,” he winks.

Nausea rolls in her stomach. “This is supposed to be about Jason.”

“Yeah. He dated your sister. They disappeared around the same time. Who’s to say I’m not trying to investigate you?”

The implication makes her shiver in revulsion. “In your _dreams,_ Reggie.”

“Maybe. But I saw the way you barreled into the men’s locker room with Veronica. You didn’t keep that hand up to shield those innocent little eyes too long. You snuck a peek. You’re _curious,_ aren’t you?”

Horror spreads through her entire body. She can _feel_ Jughead staring at her, trying to piece together if it’s true. He doesn’t know about the Chuck thing. He can _never_ know about the Chuck thing. He’ll say she’s imbalanced, that she’s too personally involved in the case…that she—

“Betty?”

His voice snaps her out of it, releasing the tension in her fists. It takes significant effort not to look at her palms.

"It's fine. It was for an article."

“You don’t have to do this. Reggie’s just being a jerk. He probably doesn’t even know anything.” Jughead’s gaze is lost somewhere in her general direction, deep in thought.

But Reggie _might_ know something.

And she _might_ kill him.

Only if he pushes her buttons. Or if she steps too far into her role.

This isn't going to work.

She’s crazy. She is absolutely, out-of-her-mind, _crazy_. Just like Polly. Like her parents. Like—

The tentative creak of the classroom door jerks her out of her inner spiral, fingers flying away from a self-induced temple massage.

“Um, excuse me, is this detention?” a buttery, slightly elderly voice tries.

“Pop?” Jughead’s baffled expression borders on hilarity. “What did they put you in for?”

“Jughead, I should’ve known why you weren’t in this morning,” Pop laughs warmly, shuffling the rest of the way in to the desk at the front. “I guess the teacher who was supposed to be here had a family emergency. I’m actually on the list of substitutes nowadays. Could always use the extra cash.”

“What about Pop’s?” Betty asks, feeling a bit redundant amidst trying to regain control of her racing thoughts.

“One of my junior chefs is taking over for a bit. Let me rest my feet. Uh, you don’t mind, do you?” he asks, white eyebrows curving in perfect round arches, butt poised towards the desk chair.

“Be our guest,” Jughead grins, grabbing a handful of the trail mix to gnaw on. She decides that it is most _definitely_ contraband, and they are _definitely_ going to run out of it.

Pop lets out a satisfied sigh, sinking into the chair. Poor guy is probably on his feet at least twelve hours a day. This might actually be the first time she's ever seen him sit down. “So. What are we in for today?” he asks, perhaps a little to genially for the situation.

“Sleuthing.” If Betty’s not mistaken, Jughead’s _bragging_ about their reason for detention. She supposes it’s a good a reason as any. If they hadn’t been _caught_.

“Must be a nice break from getting caught ditching class,” Reggie mutters.

Betty shoots Jughead a sharp look. He wilts a little but doesn’t acknowledge the accusation. Why is he cutting classes? Is he investigating on his own? Or is it something else?

“Anyway,” Reggie clears his throat, stumbling out of the desk with the same grace of falling out of bed. “I’m not _in_ for long. Coach Clayton gave me this note. I gotta be at practice.”

Pop smiles at the little slip of paper like it’s a child’s drawing he has no idea what to make of. “Does that sound right to you?”

Betty and Jughead share a startled look. Is he asking if it’s okay to let Reggie go? The thought of enduring any amount of time with him is enough to drive someone up the wall. “Yes,” they answer promptly, sharing a smile and resisting a _jinx_.

Rolling his eyes, Reggie stuffs his hands into his track pants. “Great. I'll take a shower after practice in anticipation for our date." With one last lewd tongue motion behind Pop's back, Reggie punches the door open to get to his escape. Betty shakes her head at his childishness, vaguely aware of Jughead clenching his fists and his jaw in her peripheral. Reggie’s _leaving_ , they don’t need to get into another fight.

Pop glances expectantly at the remaining duo, folding his hands on the desk like that’s the official _teacher_ pose. This must be one of the first times she’s seen Pop Tate without the hat and apron, just a vision of white against dark skin and a bright red bow tie. Oddly enough, he fits right in behind the desk, so essentially Riverdale that she can’t imagine him out of place _anywhere_ in this town. Except maybe at dinner at her house. He’d be _shocked_ by the things that came out of her parents’ mouths. They’d probably hate the comforting smell of fry grease.

“So…did you kids bring homework, or…?”

Jughead’s face glows with an obvious fondness, his eyelashes settling soft and low. “Are we your first detention kids?”

“Yes,” Pop admits, nearly embarrassed but somehow excitable. “I’m not sure what we’re supposed to do here.”

“It’s real easy, Pop.” Plunking his feet on a higher rung of Betty’s desk, Jughead makes himself comfortable. “We hang out from 8 until 1. Half hour lunch break at 11.”

“Oh. That’s…longer than I was expecting,” he sighs, rubbing his head. “I was hoping to be out of here in time for the lunch rush.”

“Don’t let _us_ stop you. We can manage ourselves for a few hours. You’ll probably have to come back to lock up, but…”

“Oh, good. I’ll have to bring you back some burgers as a reward for being so accomodating.” Betty shares a glance with Jughead, whose eyes have already lit up with possibility. Is this going to be that easy? Just…do homework? Hang out for a few hours? Pop drums his fingers on the desk, a light smile hovering on his face. “I’m gonna use the washroom.” He shuffles to his feet, pausing good-naturedly at the door. “You two behave.”

“We’ll try,” Jughead preens, rolling his eyes.

As soon as the door shuts, Betty levels her gaze on Jughead, who’s popping pretzels into his mouth with far too much nervous energy to be innocent.

“Ditching class, Jug?”

He sighs, leaning his head back and promptly smacking himself in the face with a chocolate square he’s trying to catch. His hand quickly skitters along his hoodie to salvage the treat. “It’s less risky than playing with matches.”

“What’s going on? Are you stressed out about the murder?” Tensing, his gaze darts away from her. Avoidance isn’t really a good tactic against Cooper investigation. “Is it Archie?” His mouth twitches, but he shakes his head. Heart beating fast, a shot in the dark, “Is it me?”

Stunned, Jughead stares at her, voice teetering on incredulity. “Betty.”

“Is it?” She’s not sure whether to be hopeful or distressed, and somehow manages a tangle of eight other undefined emotions in two syllables.

“N—no. It’s just…random stuff. Weird situation at home. Lots of complicated projects. Nothing for you to worry about.” A long finger almost catches her sweater, but he pauses, seeming to note the salt sticking to him. He pops it into his mouth to get it clean.

She darts her gaze away, trying not to focus on his lips. It’s what he’s saying…or _not_ saying that’s important. “Jug, you know if things are rough, you can always talk to me.”

“I know.”

“About anything. It doesn’t always have to be about Polly, or the murder, or school. I’m still your best friend.”

The quiet that follows eats at her, waves of anxiety rising in her chest.

“Or…just a friend, I guess.”

_A partner_ , she wants to add.

The softness of her tone must strike a chord, Jughead finally relinquishing his grasp on the trail mix to rub her shoulder. “Hey. Of course you are. My best friend.” His gaze worries into the side of her face. “This is just a weird time for Riverdale. I’ll be okay. If the worst thing that happens this week is I get stuck in a room with you for five hours, I consider that a win.”

“I just don’t want you getting in any more trouble than we already have. Especially because of me. We’re in enough hot water with the investigation…” she thinks of the hot tub, of Chuck and maple syrup and her stiletto pushing him under. The thought of Jughead seeing her in her underwear now that she’s… _a dangerous woman_ , as Kevin would eyebrow-wagglingly suggest, makes her squirm uncomfortably. “I just want you to be safe.”

“Hey…we’re gonna be okay. My non-perfect record is not going to hell over a few skipped gym classes. Plus,” his lip crooks in that lopsided smile she’s come to love. “I have the honor of not only earning, but serving in Betty Cooper’s first-ever detention. That has to be worth it on some level. We’re making memories here, Betts.” Crooking his fingers, he bumps her on the chin. It’s not like when her mother does it for pictures. There’s no insistence to straighten. It’s more like he's telling her it'll be all right, to keep looking up, followed by a lingering stare that seems to land on her lips…or is that just a trick of the light?

She lets out a deep sigh, suddenly feeling warm all over.

Jughead settles back into his normal sense of humor. “You’re in detention, Jason Blossom is dead, and Pop Tate is a substitute teacher. What alternate universe are we living in?”

“A crazy one,” she admits mildly, poking at his toes until deciding to just swing her arm over them to write, his feet tucked under her armpit. “You’re impossible.”

“You mean adorable. _Bestie_.”

Her cheeks ache already from smiling this much, and the glint in Jughead’s eyes gives her the impression that he’s enjoying it. Her other hand curls around his shoes. Shifting his butt down so her legs are even more in her embrace, Jughead observes her with easy camaraderie.

“I had no idea you were so attached to my feet.”

“How else am I supposed to keep you out of trouble?”

“Ah, the old ball and chain routine. Classic. I suppose I can indulge you for a little longer.” She shakes her head, trying to encourage him but finding it's impossible to keep a smile off her face. “Seriously, though, isn’t Mama Cooper gonna flip if she sees shoe prints on the edge of your sweater set?”

“Maybe she’ll send me wherever Polly is and we can solve the mystery that much faster,” she answers brightly, not aware of the sarcasm at the edge of her voice until it’s hovering out there in the universe. Her mouth drops open, fully aware of the careful way Jughead's studying her. “I’m—sorry. That wouldn't help. Then you’d be tasked with having to find all of us in the off-chance we couldn’t get away.”

“I’d always find you, Betts. But I know you're strong and smart enough to get away.”

Her heart knocks insistently in her ribcage.

“Then maybe that should be our new plan. What other marks can you leave on me?”

Jughead stops eating, and she’s pretty sure she stop breathing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I'm mean. More is coming, I just want to get this started for the birthday DAY ya know? Chapter 2 is in the brain space of Jug. Hope you enjoy and please lemme know your thoughts in comment and kudo form! Or tumble with me at @lovedinapastlife


	2. Carpe Diem

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Featuring hormones, as experienced by Jughead Jones! Yaaaay!

_Damn it, Pop_ , he wants to hiss as the door reopens. But he can’t. Because Pop is pretty much the gentlest old man in the universe, not to mention one of the few who will actually _feed_ him.

His face is still _flaming_ though, heart racing in his chest, pretzels dancing half-chewed down his esophagus because of Betty “ _leave your mark on me”_ Cooper.

He’s imagining about eight thousand different ways he could interpret that, and unfortunately almost all of them are dirty as hell for a Saturday morning, especially before he’s had his coffee. But if they’re going to kiss he really shouldn’t be getting coffee breath anyway.

_Kiss_.

Yeah, right.

Like she really wants to—

Jughead sneaks a glance at his best friend, whose cheeks seem warm, but is otherwise unaffected. Her gaze stays demurely on her notebook like she’s been writing this whole time before Pop came back from the washroom.

Even if he ridiculously, overwhelmingly, _really_ wants to try something, he can’t. Not here. Not in front of Pop. Not with an awkward desk in the way. And definitely not without coffee.

Pop’s surprisingly Yoda-esque chuckle draws Jughead out of his introspection, dropping the trail mix on his desk. “Sorry for interrupting. I don’t know how this detention thing is really supposed to work. Normally when I sub they just give me a lesson plan or we watch a video.”

“We’re sort of a captive audience, Pop. Pretty sure you could put on whatever and Betty would take notes and I’d take a nap. Unless you happen to have something _other_ than Mr. Henderson’s documentaries.”

“I brought a crossword puzzle and the Register, but if you kids want to entertain yourselves…” Pop’s eyebrows climb _almost_ suggestively on his forehead, or at least it _would_ be suggestive if Pop wasn’t the most wholesome man on the planet. Jughead’s just reading too much into things. Like Betty hugging his converse instead of shoving him away. Like the way everything around them becomes fuzzy the instant they lock eyes.

But he’s not _supposed_ to have eyes for his best friend. Certainly not for Betty. The childhood buds turned sweethearts was Archie’s path, as undeserving as that may be. That ship seems to have sailed with a certain music teacher and homecoming confession. But…Trev wasn’t exactly a welcome addition to Betty’s narrative. The _distraction_. Or source. Or whatever the hell that was. Jughead sneaks a glance at Betty, wondering if Trev had the balls to try something. Probably not. Probably too good of a guy.

( _not like me_ ), Jughead thinks idly.

“So what do you think, Jug? _Gone With the Wind?_ ” She bats her eyelashes with a prim smile, _knowing_ he thinks it’s an overdramatic love letter to Southern soldier romances. It’s also approximately four hours long.

She’d climbed into his booth during a Twilight showing of it once and claimed to need a distraction.

“It’d have to be a pretty long distraction,” he smirked.

“I have time,” she’d shrugged, absently stretching her sweater over her jeans.

He doesn’t remember all of their conversation. He has a vague sense of the way she’d leaned on his shoulders to try and read amidst the noise of the projector. A tight feeling settled somewhere in his stomach, occasionally exacerbated by Scarlett’s dramatic “ASHLEIGH!” or lilting “Rhett!” which he’d imitate once in a while just to demonstrate how obnoxious it was. Betty’d laughed hard against his side and he felt it rumble right down to his gut, dissipating any lingering annoyance there. So it wasn't  _all_ bad, if she was going to force him to watch it. At least they'd have  _that._

“Why don’t you two go to the teacher’s lounge and pick a movie?” Pop suggests. “I can wheel the tv over and…”

“No, you sit. We’ve got this,” Betty insists, already rising to take over so he can relax and enjoy.

Typical, wonderful Cooper.

“Come on, Betts. I’ll show you where the good stuff is.” Jughead holds the door open with his body wedged in the frame like he’s begging for a tip. She smirks at him as she passes, ponytail swirling gently as they make their way down the hall.

_Mark me_ , it mocks him.

Neither have bothered to ask for a key because Betty can pick locks and this is Riverdale High, in which _nothing_ is locked, even when it should be. He’s pretty sure the trophy cabinet is the only thing they actually try to preserve in this school.

They sift through an embarrassing amount of _Bill Nye_ videos until settling on something they think Pop might in some theoretical universe approve of.

“Pop seems to trust us a lot.” Betty stays seated primly on her knees, rocking a little restlessly.

“One of the few. Probably because he doesn’t have anything to hide.”

“Do you think any of the Tates have ever been on a murder board?” Sliding onto her butt, the way she sits almost reminds him of a mermaid.

“Maybe if a bunch of cows mysteriously went missing right before the lunch rush,” he shrugs. “But running a 24-hour diner doesn’t really leave a lot of time for an active life in crime.”

“So they'd stick to cow-napping, because there are so many nearby farms in Riverdale.”

Even mocking him, Betty’s cute. But maybe that’s not the right word. Endearing.Bright. _Something_. He’s going to have to work on identifying what he means if he’s gonna keep up this writer thing, especially since the nagging idea of the word  _crush_ seems to keep crystallizing with harder edges in his mind lately. It's more than that. She's...

Well, he better not think about it right now. They have a detention to serve.

He picks up their DVDs just to keep his hands from doing something stupid, like grabbing hers. He’s not entirely successful. As the first to stand, he automatically offers her a hand up. It’s just _natural instinct_. It’s not like he can fight it, any more than he fight helping her up with the other hand too, DVDs practically forgotten as his fingers pat her back on the way up.

It’s not like she _wants_ him to stop being helpful. Her fingers have looped back around his on more than one occasion, her face beaming at him for every consideration, returning his favors with her own. Long limbs have blessed him with the ability to reach beyond her and open the door again, earning her smile.

“You know, I _can_ get these myself sometimes.”

“What kind of detention date would I be if I let you run off your own? You bring the snacks, I push the handles, right?”

Betty rolls her eyes. “Is that what you did with Reggie?” She keeps just a step or two ahead of him, and he’s pretty sure it’s so she can get the next door.

“Reggie did not bring me snacks, which I consider a personal affront, so no, he did not get the Betty Cooper treatment. Kindness begets kindness and all that.”

“Lucky me,” she smiles lightly, clasping her hands behind her back like she's Riverdale's sweetheart about to go to a sock hop.

Maybe Trev was helpful. Probably opened her car door. Bought her dinner. Jughead frowns, glancing at the passing classrooms, the Blue and Gold.

“You’ve had a lot of dates this week.”

Her voice seems tilted, _off._ “What?”

“I’m just saying…detention, Trev, and now Reggie’s asking to get in line. Betty Cooper becomes a cheerleader and suddenly she’s popular. You, um, you gonna make a habit of it?”

“What are you talking about? You know that wasn’t a real date. It was for the investigation, _and_ an article,” she frowns, marching ahead.

“Yeah, but he didn’t know that. And unless you were body snatched, you were charming and pretty and smart and an absolute teenage delight. Any guy with half a brain is going to want another chance.” The compliment sprinkles confused glee over her features like glitter. As if she hasn’t considered Trev had a good enough time to want to bother again, maybe because she didn’t. Because she’s so focused on the investigation. Maybe she can’t see…or doesn't want to...

She’s looking at him. He clears his throat, facing forward and attempting to gain some clarity without the full force of her intelligent gaze analyzing whatever he’s investigating.

“So are you gonna make a go of it with Trev? Or Reggie? Or some other unsuspecting jock?” He swings back the DVDs like they’re shot-puts ready to launch.

“Wow, thanks,” she smirks dryly. “So many great options. However will I choose?”

Something shifts in his chest, his shoulders lighter. “So you’re not even tempted? Get the true story? Or just…the cheerleader experience?”

Her finger taps considerately at her chin. “I thought the cheerleader experience was actually cheering for a team.”

“I thought it was being screamed at by Cheryl Blossom.”

“Then trust me, mission accomplished,” she laughs. Without bodies to absorb the sound, it echoes like a heartbeat bringing the halls to life.

“All right. So if none of them are lucky enough to deserve your company, what are we going to do about Reggie’s possible faux-testimony?”

“I’ll figure it out,” she shrugs, so self-satisfied that there isn’t any room for doubt.

“Oh really?”

“Mmhm.”

God, he loves it when she preens. She walks almost on tip-toes with that smart little smile that says _I know exactly what I’m doing_ and she just goes ahead and does it. 

Almost all of her expressions are endearing, but it’s the _I know what I want_ face that sets his insides thrumming. And maybe he knows too. Not just what he wants, but that he wants it _now_. Soon.

They wheel the television out of its storage closet, which happens to be three down from his own secret little Harry Potter bungalow. The wheel squeaks, and but they each take a side and manage to keep it in a generally straight direction to the classroom. She keeps glancing at his hands for some reason. Normally it’d make him self-conscious but it doesn’t seem like a _bad_ glance. Just an indecipherable one at the moment.

“Please. Allow me,” she smiles, rushing to open the door ahead of him, one hand still vaguely helping him steer the tv cart.

“M’lady,” he nods, wheeling by.

“M’lord.”

_Community_ , he wants to sigh, mostly in satisfaction that she actually gets his references. Or just generally plays along, even if she doesn’t.

Pop sits up with genial enthusiasm. “You found the t.v.!”

“You order, we deliver.”

“Sounds more like _my_ business,” he chuckles. “Well what have you got?”

“Educational yet scintillating tales. We figured it’s early, so we’d start with something low-key like _Apocalypse Now._ ” At Pop’s blank stare, Jughead chuckles. “I’m kidding. We actually got _Dead Poets Society_.”

Pop’s eyebrows raise fractionally, hands bracing the edge of the desk. “That sounds a little morbid for a morning detention.”

_This guy_ , Jughead smiles appreciatively, wondering if he ever even has  _time_ to go to the movies.

“It’s about an English class that studies the use of language and poetry as a way to discover their voices,” Betty provides, already popping the movie in.

“They also learn how to woo women.” Jughead wiggles his eyebrows suggestively.

A little chuckle puffs out of Pop’s rotund genial demeanor. “A worthy endeavor." After a moment of consideration, he pats his legs. "Well, you kids enjoy. I might try to catch a little nap in the meantime. Unless you need me?”

“We’ll be fine. There are some couches in the student or teacher’s lounge if you prefer.”

“All right then. _That_ is where I shall be. Come find me if you need anything. Or call.”

“But we don’t—“ Betty glances between Pop and Jughead, confused.

“Jughead has the mobile number. He _is_ my number one customer,” Pop winks, walking in a staggered way that makes Jughead a little nervous, but maybe his foot’s just fallen asleep. “Don’t go wandering off or anything. I’ll be back in…an hour?”

“Take as long as you need, Pop.”

With a nod, Riverdale’s most wholesome citizen shuts off the front lights and disappears to get some well-earned rest. When Jughead turns back around, Betty’s got this sort of appraising smile on her face.

A wave of electric warmth courses through him, making him feel as bashful as when he was six and offered her flowers. “What?”

“You’re just…very tender with him. You’re good at sensing people’s needs.”

Scoffing, he turns to the white board. “Yeah, right.”

“You are.”

If he is, it certainly hasn’t helped any. He does get these weird tugs in his gut though. Pop’s weariness. Archie’s restlessness. Even Jason’s scheming, appraising look at an outsider before his mysterious disappearing act, later turned murder. It’s not like they were friends. Almost the opposite. But maybe  ~~ he ~~ they can figure this out. It’ll serve as a nice background distraction from the movie, plus it’ll keep Betty engaged with him beyond movie-banter. And lately...Jughead's been sensing that Betty's been longing for connection, whether for her sister or...someone else.

He purses his lips, huffing out a breath as he starts a makeshift murder board. Pop’s been lax, but he probably doesn’t want them wandering into the Blue and Gold. 

After a while of his butt planted on the teacher's desk, mulling over words and the movie and the investigation, he hears the shuffle of clothing.

_Calm down, hormones_ , he grits his teeth, unable to stop himself from looking at Betty. The soft little sweater she’d put on this morning falls gracefully down her elbows, tugged until her arms are bare. Her eyes look even more inviting with her chin tilted down, long lashes extending the big-eyed beauty look she’s fixed on him for whatever reason.

“Um…I was just thinking of using my sweater as a pillow for a bit.”

Trying to even out his breathing, he barely notes the way he’s rolling the end of the dry-erase marker on his lips. There's a pillow in the closet. A whole bed, if she really wants it. But that’d open up a whole other can of worms, not to mention the thought of Betty in _his_ bed…

He forces his brain on another trajectory. She doesn’t _look_ tired, even for an 8 a.m. detention. She’s gorgeous and bright-eyed and has a generally lovely use of her vocabulary. When she’s tired, she smooths her ponytail a lot, like she wishes she could take it out. But she hasn’t done that yet. Besides, Betty usually only falls asleep in movies when she’s cushioned between the warmth of Archie and him on the couch. She really likes this movie. So why is she…?

Possible scenarios whirl through his brain. Her gaze seems to flicker to the object still rolling thoughtfully along his mouth.

“You can’t go to sleep on me now,” he says slowly, pulling his lip with the marker. “I know exactly how to keep you awake.”

She audibly swallows, moving her sweater in a heap to the top of her desk. “Wh—what’s that?”

The careful steps closing the distance between them fill him with a weird sense of anticipation. “I’m gonna mark you, Betty Cooper. Pick your place.” Her lips part, eyes shining with the glow of the television, and he has this horrible urge to caress her face.

With the edge of the marker in place of his finger, he traces her jaw. “How obvious do you want to be? Neck tattoo? Shoulder? Back?” He moves to the side of her, the end of the marker forging a path he’d love to try with hands. “Higher? _Lower_? What do you want, Betts? And where do you want it?” His voice feels lower than normal, more reserved. Like he’s commanding her. _Give it to me. Your thoughts. Your desires. I want them._

Because as good a reader as he may be, he needs to be _sure_. Or at least _mostly_ sure that this is what she wants.

He offers her an encouraging smirk when she turns, breath only slightly shaky when she admonishes, “You are _not_ giving me a tramp stamp, Jughead Jones.”

He laughs, some of the tension in his chest stretching, accommodating for humor. “What am I giving you then?”

To his surprise, Betty swivels in her desk chair, looking up at him with that _I know what I want_ face. It’s almost enough to make him hard. He has to focus on thoughts of baseball just to keep things under control, considering activity that’s pretty much on level with her face right now.

“I want it on my hip.”

“You hip?” he repeats, saliva already pooling in his mouth. He definitely pegged her for her a shoulder girl.

“Yeah.” Her hands lift up her shirt the tiniest bit, the other pushing down the waist of her jeans until his nostrils are quivering at the sight of a perfect, unblemished patch of skin usually only seen on special occasions in summer months. “What do you think?.”

Words escape him. Anything besides the thought of Betty Cooper lifting her clothes aside for him in any capacity is out of sight, out of mind.

This is a sign. _The_ sign. A bright neon flashing sign that says, “Rebellious teen bombshell, party of one!”

“Juggie?” she says softly, letting her clothes slide slowly into place, Jughead’s brain functions kicking back in.

“All right then. Step into my office,” he jokes, moving back, but before he can get on his knees (oh god on _his knees_ ) she stands up, nearly flush against him before moving to the teacher’s desk and scooting her butt up. Curious, he follows her, uncapping the marker and watching as she pushes back, legs kicking out in a brief V-formation as she lays herself flat.

A string of expletives whips throughout his body.

Betty Cooper is laid on a desk, basically inviting him between her thighs.

“I figured this would give you the best canvas, no rolls or anything to get in the way,” she manages, the tightness of her voice betraying nervousness even as her thumbs pull down her jeans the slightest bit.

“You know how I like a nice canvas.”

It’s a weird thing to say, but it doesn’t matter. Doesn’t even _register_ in his mind. Jughead approaches with heated reverence. This is his best friend. His partner. His…

A thrill washes over him. He doesn’t need to stand between her legs. She doesn’t need to take off her sweater to tempt him. This just… _is_. Instinct takes over as his thumb swabs the delicate groove of her hip. She inhales sharply, catching his gaze. “You all right, Betts?”

“Yeah. Just—do something there.” Her neck must feel uncomfortable at that angle, because she arches it back until she’s staring up at the ceiling, apparently trying to think of something else, to distract herself from this brave little rebellion.

But it won’t be that easy. Not for him, anyway.

Purposely teasing, but still gentle, he lets his fingers wander a little more freely, just on the border of a tickle and a caress. “Whatever I want, huh?”

“Juggie—“ she chides through a smile, knee instinctively bucking at him.

“All right, calm down. I know just what the doctor ordered.”

For a moment he considers how open this invitation is. If he could bring his mouth to her skin, suck a bruise in until she squirmed.

Fucking _hell_ he’s out of his mind. Fantasizing about… _defiling_ Betty Cooper on a teacher’s desk in detention. He’ll have to save that fantasy for when he’s alone. Although it does seem like she _wants…something._

It’s not like Betty would just lay down on a desk for anyone. Or move her clothes aside. Or…

His hand grounds itself on the covered hip, but the heat of her radiates through the boundaries anyway. _Jughead Jones wuz here_ flashes in his mind as the black marker reaches her skin. Even just the the slightest shift under his palm makes him have to focus ten times more. It’s just a few lines, but he takes his sweet fucking time doing it.

This isn’t a haphazard goodbye to a monument of his childhood where he can throw away the spray can, the evidence to be demolished in a few days. This is _Betty_. _His_ Betty. If he could make this ink permanent he's do it in a _heartbeat_. This doesn’t feel like a middle finger to Riverdale or even Alice. This is a gift. To each other.

The final line closes the image together, and he has the urge to run over it with his fingers once again. But no. That’ll smear. So he leans his face close, blowing over the ink in the hopes it’ll stay.

“Jug,” she gasps, wriggling under the change in temperature. She’s so fucking cute. He digs his fingers into her sides for good measure. “Juggie!” The tickled squeal is accompanied by the swift pressure of her thighs coming around him. Powerful want courses through him, and he’s got half a mind to crawl up on the desk and kiss her senseless when her leg twists hard enough to knee him in the gut. Breath knocked out of him, he staggers back.

“Jug,” she huffs, face flushed as she works her way up to a seated position. “You _know_ that I’m ticklish there.”

He grins, careful to keep a few solid inches between himself and the desk. “I couldn’t help myself. Call it childish instinct.”

“Childish is right.” Her palm smacks into his shoulder, but hovers on the ricochet. Like maybe she wants to leave it there.

“Hey, Betts?”

“What?”

“What do you think I drew?”

She fixes him with a look.  _You think I don’t know?_

“What do you think about it?” he tries instead, still grinning, still giddy.

“I’m thinking…you need one too. My choice.” She grabs the marker out of his hand before he can say anything else. Disappointment lingers, even as she shoves his sleeves up to get his forearm.

“Don’t I get to choose where it is?”

“No. Not after tickling me. You’re lucky I’m not giving _you_ a tramp stamp.”

He laughs, watching her with mild interest as she readies the marker, eyes on his skin with a different kind of focus than he’d had on hers.

_I,_ she draws. Okay. A heart symbol. Full, underneath. He swallows. Yes.

The next piece of the sentiment _almost_ looks like a ‘ _u’_ , but it’s way too short. Betty pauses, biting her lip, but puts the marker back to his skin for one more thick stripe and another little curve to make it a hamburger.

Oh.

“I heart hamburgers?”

“You _love_ them,” she corrects, poking the skin to the side of the ink. “See the little heart? That means love.”

His eyebrow quirks, sarcasm spilling out before he can stop it to try to flirt. “Interesting choice, but I tend not to discriminate in my food relationships.”

“I figured Pop would like it too,” she shrugs. “Especially since he’s been so nice to us.”

Her lips purse as she delicately lends him a pointed breeze that wriggles all the nerve endings on his arm.

“What about you? Do you like it? Think I should make my declaration permanent?”

It’s a challenge and she knows it. _Should we declare what’s drawn on your hip, Betty?_

Their minds reach out like pinkies about to make a promise. That link, so brief, so binding.

The only time he’s felt this high, this _sure_ about things is when they’re working together. Not even necessarily on a project. It could be a video game. Finishing their milkshakes. Chatting animatedly or reading in silence. Just…surviving.

Knowing she’s his best friend, his partner, it feels like there are _some_ things that will always be stable, that there will always be good in the world. And yet he wants more. Needs it. More than he needs a home, more than he needs a burger. He craves Betty Cooper.

Barely a blip on the radar, quotes from the movie snap under his thoughts like jazz accompaniment.

_There's a time for daring and there's a time for caution, and a wise man understands which is called for._

Her gaze flickers to his lips, curious, wanting.

_Carpe diem. Seize the day, boys. Make your lives extraordinary._

_Fuck it,_ he thinks, and pulls her in for a kiss. He holds his breath, lips pursed against hers as he expects a flurry of adjectives to barrel him over. But there aren’t. It's just…

_Betty._

It’s on repeat, a buzz, a symphony. _Betty._ _Betty._ _Betty._ _Betty._ _Betty._ _Betty._

_Warm_ pops in. _Yes. Finally. Good. Soft._

But mostly _Betty_.

They slide apart, a little exhale puffing the anticipation of the event back into the air. Betty’s teeth immediately claw over her bottom lip, and he’s not sure if it’s because she’s shy or she’s trying not to eat him.

_Eat me_ , he wants to urge her, vaguely aware of how insane he is. How gone for his best friend he’d have to be to mentally encourage her to devour him, like she hasn’t already.

As if she _knows_ what he’s thinking, Betty grins, her teeth barely able to keep the curve of her lip hidden.

“Betty,” he breathes, fingers gently cupping her jaw, her teeth releasing that precious lip so it can be kissed again. Her hands climb up to his shoulders, encouraging the intimacy. Maybe he _will_ get to trace that path the marker started for him. Her neck, all the way down her shoulder, across her back. And down. Down to that hip. Down to the marked crown he wants to imprint on her forever.

_Betty_ , the universe hums, accompanied with the just the faintest triumphant whisper that  _Jughead Jones wuz here._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok Betty got a little bold, but my rationale was that she wanted a "tattoo" she could easily hide most of the time, but also show off with the right shirt and movement if needed. Plus she could test out what it felt like to have a certain crush focused on that area. It felt pretty frickin' good. And tickly, because he's a bit of brat. Also she was turned on by Juggie playing with the marker at his lips, rolling it around as he considered the murder board. Hence, the sweater removal!
> 
> I feel like Betty would totally get a hip tattoo when she grew up, but what do I know? What do you think? Where would Betty get her tattoos?
> 
> Don't worry, our lil' troublemaker Reggie will come back into play.


	3. Adrenaline

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Betty and Jughead are on the precipice of being caught. It's quite the adrenaline high, possibly an addictive one...but more likely they're hooked on each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lots of kissing. Eventual steaminess.

“Jug,” she smiles, gently clutching the curls at the nape of his neck. “We have to stop sometime.”

“Why?” He barely pulls back, letting his eyes rest in surprisingly open adoration. “Food? Water? Air? Irrelevant. _This_ is far more satisfying.” He punctures his point with reverent kisses that send her brain into a dizzied tailspin of excitement.

It’s tempting. Definitely tempting. Sort of like it’s _tempting_ to rip his shirt off. It’s _tempting_ to pull him on top of the desk and rut until she sees stars. _Tempting_ …

“Jughead.” She closes her eyes, relishing the tenderness of his embrace, the velvet of his lips, the ticklish delight as he moves to trail kisses along her neck when her mouth is otherwise occupied with words. “But—Pop said he’d give us about an hour. It’ll have been in an hour in like…five minutes.”

At that, he pauses, his hands moving from her face to her hips as he surveys the after-effects of their union with no small amount of fondness. Her hair’s too stiff for the ponytail to be out of place, but she has no doubt that her lips are swollen and that her cheeks are pink. If hands could burn, she’d have giant scars on her stomach and back. They probably didn’t get to the kind of _up the shirt_ action people write about in magazines, but…

It was nice.

_Really_ nice.

Jughead lets a goofy smirk cross his features, light dancing behind his eyes. “What are you smiling about?”

“Nothing, just…” she plays at the hem of his shirt. “Thinking.”

“Is it something about how I should really start wearing a tie to hang on doors? What if I use a sock? Or tie it shut with my suspenders?”

“Juggie, you don’t have enough time left to warrant sock-worthy action,” she laughs, almost bashful when her knees accidentally knock him closer to her core. His gaze darkens at the increased heat. She has to swallow the saliva building up behind her teeth. “We might get caught.”

A finger delicately traces her cheek, moving behind the sensitive skin of her ear as he surveys her face with a certain humored rapture. “Maybe now you’ve gotten a taste for rebellion, you like the idea of getting caught making out with Riverdale High’s resident loner. What kind of depraved things go on inside that beautiful head of yours?”

His mouth tempts her with another lopsided smile. He leans forward for more affection, like there’s a finite amount he has to savor. There may not  _be_ a limit to the depravity in that dark place of her mind, the one that feels sated and warm with his skin pressed against hers.

Fisting his shirt, Betty tugs Jughead closer. _This_ is what she’d been craving. Heat and intimacy. She kisses him with abandon, hoping her tongue is exploring at the right pace after their gentle beginning. Based on his enthusiastic scramble to get her closer, it’s working. His fingers worry along her neck, nails raking her ponytail. _Now_ it might get mussed, but she hardly has the capacity to care.

He nibbles her lip, the sensation so foreign that she _gasps_ a little. Jughead has the audacity to smirk.

“What are you so smug about?”

“This is a big moment for me. I’m kissing _Betty Cooper,_ best friend, genius detective, dream girl, and sexiest—”

As much as she’d love to the hear the rest of it, she stands, their bodies sliding against one another in the negligible room between him and the desk. Jughead only manages a shocked exhale before she closes her mouth over him.

Maybe she’s coming on too strong. It’s just if they stayed on that desk, she was almost certainly going to start rubbing against him for relief. At least standing, her thighs are firmly pressed together.

His knee knocks into her, hips jutting away as he drags her towards the door.

“Juggie, where are we going?”

“To put a sock on the door.”

Laughing, she clings to his neck, amazed that he’s managed to get one shoe off in this process. “No, you are not. We can’t sexile Pop.”

“Sexile? How frisky are we planning on getting, Betts? Because if the thought of my bare foot does it for you, I’m happy to rub it against it you.”

There were many sleepovers in the treehouse where her, Juggie, and Archie would all smash limbs at night at odd angles, occasionally kicking each other just for fun. Even back then, Jughead would always edge towards tickling her, catching her foot and making her squirm until she either clocked him well enough or caved in a fight of pleas and giggles. Breathless, she’d stare at him, wild-eyed and amazed that they were free to come undone.

She wonders if it’s possible he liked her back then. _This_ way. The “more than best friends” way.

Taken aback by the possibility, she unlinks her hands and whisks off in the direction of the normal desks. At least the mystery of how they both feel is pretty much complete. She loves Jughead. Well, she _likes_ him, but her respect and admiration runs far too deep for her to just assign _like_ to him. Plus…the way her body reacted…even her most vivid dreams can't hold a candle to how Jughead makes her feel now. Just a lip curl is enough to send heat pooling in her stomach. It’s like she has tunnel vision, tuned in to his every expression and mood. Now that she knows what it’s like to kiss and touch him, her fantasies have an impossibly firm hold on reality.

She might never be able to concentrate on a lesson in this room again. Maybe if she just forces herself to focus.

Taking a deep breath, Betty studies their impromptu murder board. She hears hurried footsteps dash back and forth, the door rattling shut. Expecting to be annoyed, she turns to Jughead’s cheeky, lopsided grin. “What?”

Jughead’s bare toes crinkle and wave at her in a happy little salute from the floor. He actually did it. He put his sock on the door. She’s not sure whether to be horrified or impressed.

“Juggie, you get your sock back _right now!_ ”

“I don’t want someone _ruining_ our moment,” he teases.

“The moment, as lovely as it was, is over right now. We should really be putting this time to good use.”

“Who says we won’t be?”

Hopefully the smiles he’s encouraging don’t look as ridiculous as they feel. She’s _giddy,_ practically going up on her toes as his hands embrace her waist, eyes roaming each other's faces with unguarded affection. What if it’ll always be this way?

The thought’s enough to convince her to lean in again. Just one more kiss, she promises herself. Just for now.

Slow, heavy, shuffling footsteps in the hall interrupt their reverie.

Horrified, they both turn to the door. The round silhouette of Pop Tate in all white stops in the door window, staring at the handle with his eyebrows raising infinitely higher. If possible, he _blushes_ , desperately trying not to look into the window, fingers patting his stomach like he’s searching for a set of keys.

“Oh my god! Pop! It was a joke!” Betty exclaims, pushing past Jughead to open the door.

“Thank goodness,” Pop exhales so deeply that his knees bend in relief. “I heard the door and thought you needed me, but when I saw—If something like _that_ happened…oh, they’d never let me sub again.” Regaining his strength, he manages a _hm_ and quirks an eyebrow. “Was this Jughead’s idea?”

_Yes_ , sits at the tip of her tongue, but that feels a little like a betrayal, so she just snaps the damn sock off the handle and whips it at Jughead as she walks by, his hand automatically shooting up to catch it at his chest while a nervous chuckle vibrates through the room.

“Sorry about that, Pop. I have a quirky sense of humor.”

Wandering further to the center of the room, Pop parks one fist on the crease in his back, carefully taking in the writing on the board. The _murder_ board.

Betty shoots Jug a questioning look. He shrugs one shoulder, for once not sure what to say as he snags the sheathes back around his foot.

“You kids do this?”

She’s grateful to have anything to distract her from talking about the sock or its implications.

“Yes. We’ve been…investigating. Polly and Jason seem to have disappeared at the same time, although Jason…well, he turned up again, I guess. But I still have no idea where Polly is, and my parents won’t tell me. You see people in this town all the time. Did you see or hear anything that might help? Did they make any plans? Enemies?” Surprised, Pop turns to her, and from the way his joints move she’s surprised he doesn’t creak. “I know it’s a long shot, but I’m desperate. I haven’t seen my sister in _months_. Her messages just… _stopped_ when I was at my internship.”

Without even touching her, Jughead steadily moves closer to cover her back. Instant teamwork mode, just like that. It definitely feels better than the guilty three foot distance they seemed to keep those few seconds after Pop almost walked in on them. Now that she knows just how warm his side is, she may allow that distance to dwindle to nothing.

Pop sighs, hands out in deference. “Kids, I really wish I could help, but all I really know is their favorite orders. They seemed happy and excited the last times I saw them. I’d hate to think what might’ve happened for things to turn…as tragic as they did.”

Jughead shoots her a thought, _Allow me._ She nods, glancing back at Pop as Jughead prepares his casually inquisitive stance. “Any idea of what they might’ve been excited about?”

Pop makes a conflicted face, lips thinning and gaze darting to the side.

Betty tenses, every hair standing on end. He _knows_ something.

Pop Tate, most innocent man in the world, _knows_ something about her sister’s disappearance. And from that face, it’s clearly something he doesn’t want to tell her.

“What? What is it?” Her voice is barely above a whisper, not quite the direct detective vibe she’s struggling for. Jughead’s hand sneaks behind her back to blanket her with at least a little reassurance.

Torn, Pop shifts, absently wiping down the desk like it’s one of his counters. “It’s nothing, really, I just…I see a lot of kids in and out. A lot of gossip. You know I don’t listen to any of it.”

“Pop.” Jughead’s voice is gentle, soft but firm. “What is it?”

It’s almost like Pop’s jaw grinds without making contact, his gaze darting to Betty in a way that makes her feel five years old again. Like she should leave the room so her parents can have an _adult discussion_. “I…I shouldn’t say.”

“Please.”

With a big, shoulder-heaving sigh, Pop sags against the heavy desk. It’s not the same side they’d defiled just a few minutes ago, but she shifts closer to Jughead for a little solidarity nonetheless.

“It’s just something offhanded she said when I was leaving the table. It might not mean anything. I didn’t even _remember_ it until after everything happened, and even then my memory might be a little spotty.” It’s like he’s trying to convince himself _,_ convince _her_.

Surprisingly patient, brows fixed in focus, Jughead rubs the back of Betty’s arm. “What do you remember?”

Pop’s whole body seems to slide down in bashfulness, barely able to peek up at Jughead at all. “Polly mentioned something about Alice, how she couldn’t say anything about calories if they were divided by two.” Pop sighs, wiping his face with a chubby palm. “It’s not much, but I thought _maybe_ …”

“Polly’s pregnant?” Betty’s heart snags in her chest. “And it’s…it was Jason’s?” Jughead silently pleads to confer together, but she’s pretty sure she’s going to throw up on her shoes if she does much of anything right now. Sensing her roll forward, Jughead takes her elbow. That seems to abate her nausea for now.

_Pregnant_?

Nervous, Pop stumbles over slow words. “At the time, I assumed she meant that she was splitting her milkshake with Jason.”

“And did she?” Jughead asks, fingers firm and warm.

Pop wiggles back and forth a little. “Not that I remember, no.”

It takes all of Betty’s strength not to cave in to the brokenness she feels. Polly and Jason were pregnant? Or…Polly would be? Assuming she’s still alive.

Jughead’s fingers squeeze her arm, a quiet _hang in there._

“Thanks, Pop. Every bit helps.”

“Yes. Thank you,” she manages, turning into Jughead’s shoulder to minimize her dizziness. With his hand at her side, she works her way back to the original desk. The rest of the movie sort of peters out as details from the case swim in front of her.

If someone killed Jason because of Polly’s child…it wouldn’t be a jealous lover. Polly only dated, only loved Jason. She’d been his for a while, on and off. The only people who didn’t like them together were their parents…and Cheryl, she supposes. But Cheryl was practically obsessed with her brother, thought he was the greatest. Betty has a hard time imagining Cheryl killing him in some fit of jealousy, and she’d seemed just as horrified at his corpse as everyone else.

So if it wasn’t her, it might’ve been her parents…assuming the motive _was_ something to do with the baby. The Blossoms _or_ the Coopers. But then what did they do with Polly? Was she shipped off to protect the baby or to protect her from whomever murdered Jason? Or is it something else entirely?

She feels warmth at her back, gently drawing her out of her puzzlement. Thankfully she hasn’t broken skin on her palms, but she does need to put her hands to use if she wants to avoid it.

Jughead’s shifted his desk almost flush against Betty’s, foot propped up on the edge of her seat with his arm resting on top of his knee so he’s practically touching her with half his body, despite being in a different receptacle.

_You okay?_ he asks, bending his neck as if it’ll help him peer up at her.

Pop is sufficiently buried in his book puzzles, settled into the teacher’s desk again, but she appreciates Jughead’s subtle attempts to check on her nonetheless.

She nods, biting her lip and glancing down at her desk to fiddle with her pens.

This is a breakthrough. She should be elated.

Jughead likes Betty back. Polly was with child before she left.

Now Betty just has to figure out where the hell her parents would put a pregnant Polly, and maybe they can solve the rest of this mystery. There aren’t any living siblings or grandparents she knows of where Polly could hide away. Maybe some kind of farm? Or a boarding school? She feels Jughead watching over her shoulder as she makes a list, his fingers still casually brushing against her sweater. He taps the list, mouthing _convent_. Startled, she raises an eyebrow.

That suggestion requires an actual audible response. “Would they even take her?”

“Knowing your mom, I’d say they would do what she told them.”

Mouth firming into a line, Betty adds _convent_ to the growing list of places Polly _could_ be.

By the time the movie ends, Betty’s a little emotional, especially after scenes dealing with parents trying to corral their children into a pre-set future. What about Polly’s future? What about her baby’s?

If Jason and Polly were _excited_ and he was selling his things, maybe they were preparing to start a life together. One without the financial support of their parents. But her parents _must_ be paying to put her _somewhere_.

“Juggie, how would you feel about coming over tonight?”

Jughead wobbles a little in his position between their seats. Color tints his cheeks as he shoots a surreptitious glance in Pop’s oblivious direction. “Sorry, tonight?”

Maybe she misread things. She assumed he’d be happy to spend more time with her, or at least investigate more after this huge discovery. Maybe she’s been running him too thin though. Relying on him too much. She tries not to bite down on her lip. “Yeah. I was thinking maybe we could have dinner together.”

A soft smile spreads on his face that makes her heart glow, even if he tries to hide his delight by staring at the floor. “Breakfast, lunch, _and_ dinner. I must’ve done _something_ right.”

A gentle clearing of the throat draws their attention to the teacher’s desk where Pop’s eyebrows are gently arched above his materials. “Let’s not forget you two are in _detention_.” Sighing, he puts the puzzle book down and palms the desk as if bracing for the effort of getting up. “But speaking of meals, I probably have to get ready for the lunch rush. Are you _sure_ you’ll be all right?”

“Of course.” Even her ponytail bobs reassuringly. She’s nothing if not responsible. Or at least…she thinks she is.

“No funny business?” Pop repeats, eyebrows climbing higher.

“We won’t do anything you wouldn’t do, Pop,” Jughead provides, thankfully sliding humor into his response. “These last few hours will be over before we know it.”

“Good. Because if I have to get a phone call about some janitor catching you two… _investigating things_ —”

Jughead bites back a laugh while Betty chooses a very nice spot on her desk to smile at, her ears turning pink.

“…You will be in _big_ trouble. I may have to temporarily ban you from Pop’s for bad behavior.”

Humor dissipating, Jughead stares at him. “Now _that’s_ a punishment.”

They all know it’s an empty threat, but pretend to consider it nonetheless.

“You two be careful,” Pop warns. “I’ll be back around 1 with your orders. Strawberry and vanilla milkshake, two burgers, one double, and two orders of fries. Sound about right?”

Her back straightens of its own accord, ankles tucked neatly behind her seat. “Yes. Good luck with the lunch rush.”

“Thank you, Betty, Jughead. I’ll see you in a few hours.”

Bouncing in indecision with whether or not to rise and open the door for Pop, Jughead starts to raise out of his seat. Pop, even though he’s much slower, is much closer to the door and handles it himself with ease. The thought counts, and Betty finds herself smiling at Jughead even as his gaze lingers worriedly on the door.

“Do you think he’ll get in trouble?”

“Won’t _we_?”

She revels in the baffled expression he throws her, fingers dragging on her sweater as she slips out of her chair and goes to the windows. The screech of the desks as he pushes them apart enough to hop over the seat and join her is somehow invigorating.

She’s going to get to the bottom of this.

Bracing the frame, she jimmies the bottom of the window until it pops open. 

“What are you gonna do? Hop out the window and make a break for it? This isn’t _Shawshank._ You could just use the door.”

“Pop told us to be discrete. If a janitor _does_ see us walking out through the front doors, it could mean trouble for Pop.”

“I’m sorry, walking _out?_ ” His eyes narrow, ideas forming behind their sharp blue casing. “Is Betty Cooper ditching detention?”

“Don’t be silly, I’m not ditching our date.” He seems to wilt a little, leaning in. This kind of influence could be good for her, for him too. She brushes his cheek, indulging in affection before sitting back on the sill. “I just need to talk to Reggie before practice lets out. There’s no way they’re practicing until 1pm.”

Jughead suddenly crowds the sill, arms bracing either side of it. Perhaps he thinks it’ll stop her, that she’s trapped. “Wait—you’re not—you’re not _agreeing_ to go out with him, right?”

“Of course not! I’m just going to talk to him about Jason and Polly.”

His brow furrows, lips thinning into a grimace. “That’s what you said about your _not_ -date with Trev.”

“Jughead.” She grabs his face between her palms, dragging him down for a kiss. He doesn’t resist her physically, in fact he sort of leans into it, but she can tell by the way he clenches his eyes shut and tenses his shoulders that he’s worried. “The only person I’m going to date is you.” The heaviness of what she’s just said accidentally makes her back her head into the window pane. Not that she expects them to be _dating_ all of a sudden, but she thought putting her mouth on him had been clue enough that _he’s_ the boy she’s been longing for lately. The _only_ boy. It’s not like she’s some serial romantic. “If you…if we wanted to, that is.”

“I want to.” His voice is small, but it makes her heart race nonetheless. There’s so much feeling in his gaze that it almost overwhelms her. His thumb pads along the edge of her jaw, his other fingers gently massaging the spot she’d bumped into the window pane. “I want you, Betty. I want you safe.”

“Trust me, I will be. You can stay here if you want. I’ll literally be fifteen minutes. You can nap, or—”

“I’m not leaving you alone with Reggie.” Bemused, she lets him help her duck under the window and slide onto the other side. They leave a few pencils and erases in the sill to keep it at least partially open and unlocked before Jughead’s long legs clamber through to join her.

“Ready?” she takes his hand, squeezing once at his nod before the hike through vaguely decorative shrubbery towards the football field.

She actually likes the feel of dirt under her shoes. It muffles her footsteps, leaves an imprint. The sidewalk always feels so immovable, unnatural. She uses it just like everyone else does, but going off the paved path is kind of exciting.

Unfortunately, her enthusiasm is dampened when nobody’s even on the football field.

“Are you serious? Did they even _have_ practice today?” Jughead gripes.

“Coach Clayton may play favorites, but I don’t think he’d outright _lie_ on a permission slip.” They walk a little closer to investigate. The grass does seem more recently disturbed, and there’s fresh water on some of the grass and benches as if someone had dribbled it over their faces. “Let’s check out the locker room.”

“Betty…you realize that a bunch of sweaty, half-naked men might be in there, right?”

“Nothing I haven’t seen before,” she gleans, quickly making pace back towards the school.

Jughead shakes his head at her in her peripheral. “Suddenly you’re an expert.”

“Well, I still have a lot to learn.”

“Yeah?” His eyebrow arches, oddly hopeful.

“Yeah. Pretty much…everything.”

“Everything.” His beaming smile is enough to make her laugh.

“Get your mind out of the gutter. Just because I’ve seen a few half-naked men doesn’t suddenly make me an expert on teenage guys. In fact, I just had my very first full-on make-out session.”

“How was it?”

“I don’t know, I don’t have anything to compare it to.” She bites back her just-barely evil grin, evading the brunt of his playful push.

“Keep that up, Cooper, and you won’t have an encore.”

“Oh really?”

This time they actually slow, circling around one another until she feels her pulse throbbing in her throat and his breath fanning against her lips.

His palm is heavy on her bicep, slowly curling up over her shoulders until he has her by the back of the neck, guiding her to him.

They’re quick pecks this time, breathy, and for a brief interlude she loses herself, pulling him closer by his jacket. As he starts dragging her off to a corner to more thoroughly explore this new territory, she realizes that they’re getting off track.

“Juggie! The…the locker room.”

Sighing with self-deprecating sacrifice, he stares down at her. “In the middle of our moment?”

“To be continued,” she teases, gently untangling. The way he takes deep, even breaths in an attempt to calm down and get into stalker detective mode makes her own heart beat faster. They have _hours_ after this. Maybe they can play and explore more later.

The gym door is still propped open enough for them to sneak back in to the school without the use of bobby pins. Betty creeps forward, aware of the squeaky marks rubber soles tend to leave on polished flooring. Thankfully the janitor is nowhere in sight, and Jughead seems to have an uncanny knowledge of his routines to the point he’s almost not even worried when he leads her to the men’s locker room. At least one or two lockers clang open and shut beyond the doorway, muffled male voices interacting with one another.

“Betty, let me go inside.”

“But Jug, he’ll only talk to me,” she insists, resolutely trying not to let the fierceness of his gaze break her down.

“This is a _guy’s_ locker room. Imagine if our roles were reversed.”

“But they’re not.”

“But if they _were_ ,” he sighs, putting his hands on either shoulder as if he can just move her out of the way once she calms down enough. “I want you to be safe, not scarred for life or ganged-up on by a bunch of goons.”

Biting her lip, Betty struggles against what she _should_ say. _He’s_ not safe going in by _him_ self. It’s not some big secret that he and Archie fought with Reggie and the Bulldogs in the student lounge. Although Jughead’s not particularly prone to caring about emasculation, she’d still hate to touch on that tender subject. Besides, she has a can of mace and a fair amount of self-defense under her belt thanks to her mother’s insistence on _Empowering Women_ classes when there was some increased gang activity in town.

“I will be safe,” she decides to say, cupping his face in a way that’s already natural. “Because we’ll be together. You go first, tell him we’re here, and ask him to come out. It’s not like there are other exits. We’ll be fine. I promise.”

Looking hesitant, Jughead falters. It might be a little cheap, but Betty kisses him. The kiss feels like anything _but_ a diversion tactic. It’s airy, light, and her whole body seems to scrunch as if trying to bring them closer together, like affection itself is playing her like an accordion.

Jughead’s actually the one to back up first, brow furrowed like he’s just the littlest bit _pained_ from the encounter.

“Juggie?”

“All right. Hold on.” Jughead rolls his eyes, hauling the door open with his neck lolled back like he’s stretching it out before a fight.

Maybe they _both_ ought to have a bad feeling about this, but for some reason, she can’t muster one, even with the memory of confronting Chuck with Veronica fairly fresh in her brain. Betty tightens her grip on Jughead’s sleeve and waits just outside the door as the inevitable insults are thrown about.

“Whoa, this isn’t _The_ _Breakfast Club_ , Bender, you can’t just come in here when you’re bored of staring at the nerdy princess. Did she kick you out? You feeling more like that pixie-stick inhaling goth with nowhere better to be ‘cuz _no one wants them around?_ ” Betty breathes hard through her nose, clinging tighter to Jughead’s sleeve. ”Get the fuck out of the locker room and go get your makeover before Pop wakes up from his food coma.”

With the dry irritation of someone used to being brushed off, Jughead takes a firmer stance in the locker room and gently gestures for Betty to let go, even if Reggie can’t see his sleeve from this angle. “As much as I’d _love_ to see you tape each other’s butt cheeks together, I have a guest who’d like to speak to you.”

“ _Really_?”

Betty rolls her eyes, delicately moving forward until Jughead blocks her from the doorway. “Jug,” she says quietly, not sure where he’s going with this.

“You said you wanted a not-date date. So here we are.”

“Oh, that’s _weird_ Jones. I know you and Archie might’ve had some treehouse threesomes in your younger days, but I think Betty and I would have a better time if you’re not involved.”

Jughead’s rueful smirk gives way to something dark, and Betty finds herself studying it, wanting to touch it and feel its vibrations. _Anger_. She doesn’t see it too often, and rarely directed at _her_. Never from Jughead. The tendons in his neck stand out. He’s gonna say something to get himself jumped again. Just like last time. Reggie’s such a… _prick,_ even as a disembodied voice. Time to put on the _good cop_ act, or whatever sweetness seems to dissipate the idea of an incoming threat.

“Reggie, could you _please_ come out here?” she calls quickly, trying to diffuse the situation. Jughead starts as if being pulled out of hypnotic dream.

“You’re calling for _me_ , Betty? Give me two minutes. Just gonna make sure my hygiene is up to your standards.”

Betty reaches in and drags Jughead back into the hall with her.

“Betty, what are you—?”

She kisses him. Deeply, longingly, reassuringly until the anger seems to melt off his bones and he’s wrapped up in her so tightly that she feels a warm satisfaction brewing in its wake.

Letting out a small sigh, he places his forehead against hers. “I could start getting used to this.”

She smiles, weirdly proud of _this_ , whatever _this_ is. “Me too.” Her nose rubs briefly against his, struggling not to fall into a pocket of bliss. “But we _do_ have an investigation to focus on. Do you think you and Reggie could stop swinging appendages in a testosterone-off long enough for us to find out about Polly?”

Backing up, he gestures wildly to the locker room.

“He’s starting it!”

“Of course he’s starting it. He’s Reggie. But I’m asking you, can _we_ do this? Or should I be interrogating him alone?”

Annoyed, he glares down at her. “Of course you’re not going to have to do it alone. I’m just gonna have to figure out a way to deal with Reginald and his outdated, stereotype-driven brain.”

“Thank you. And for the record, this is the most exciting date I’ve ever had.”

Mouth twitching, he squeezes her hand. “I _do_ aim for memorable.”

He doesn’t repeat the sentiment, but she’s pretty sure it’s because this is his _only_ date. She’s his first _date_. The thought sends excited tingles down to her toes, quickly rising to panic when she realizes she probably should’ve dressed cuter for this, done something special for him. But Jughead seems perfectly happy with how she’s dressed, with what they’re doing. Maybe that’s part of what makes them a good fit this way to begin with. They’ve got the casual camaraderie of friends and the intimate, heated touch of lovers.

_Lovers,_ she flushes, trying to push the thought from her mind.

She has to focus on helping Polly.

They find a corner of the hall to hover in anticipation of Reggie. A few Bulldogs exit before him, but nobody who spares them a second glance. When Reggie emerges, he looks freshly steamed to the point that Betty wonders if he actually _did_ spend a few minutes extra in the shower.

“Hi Reggie.”

“Hi Cooper.” He quirks an eyebrow to Jughead, who’s no longer touching her, but quietly watching from against the wall. “Thought we needed a chaperone?” 

“You never know,” she shrugs, taking a dainty step forward and clasping her hands in front of her in the hopes her doe-eyes don’t _only_ work on her friends. “So Reggie…I kept thinking about what you were saying, and I…I think Jason wanted a better life. For him. For Polly.”

Reggie’s expression betrays only the slightest surprise. “Well, yeah. Obviously.”

“But how would an heir apparent go beyond his family to get a job without everyone in town knowing about it?” She squints, taking another practiced step forward. Jughead exhales pointedly through his nose, but she doesn’t have time to soothe his ego. “Look, I realize…whatever you’ve been selling…may _help_ people with their day-to-day situations. All I’m interested in is where Jason might’ve gotten _his_ help. Was there a supplier you both used?” 

Reggie shuffles back a little, glancing down the hall for witnesses. The breakthrough is so close she can practically taste it, can feel Jughead uncross his arms to let the ball of tension drop.

“Look, I don’t know if you were selling prescriptions like Adderall or something more serious. I’m not buying, and it’s absolutely your business. I just want to figure out what happened to Polly, if the people who helped Jason are dangerous enough to come after her. We found out something—” she glances back at Jughead, who nods in a silent _Keep going_ , “That may indicate she’s fighting for more than herself.”

Reggie’s face scrunches up in puzzlement. “What does that mean?”

“It means…that she’s probably in danger. She may have more of Jason’s legacy than we were anticipating.”

“You mean his Varsity jacket?” Her nails edge against her palms in an attempt to prevent annoyance from rising. He thinks this is about a _jacket?_ Part of her wishes she could fully turn and face Jughead for his reaction to that one. “I tried to get them to retire his number this year and use the varsity jacket as part of his tribute, but they said they weren’t able to find it. Jason _loved_ that jacket, and somehow it’s not in his house?”

“I—I don’t know. That’s a good question. I’m just trying to figure out what happened, and how to help Polly come home. You liked Polly, didn’t you?”

“She was all right,” Reggie shrugs, one arm up in deferred bro style. His defense mechanisms are exhausting.

“I love her, Reggie. I _love_ Polly. _Please_. Anything. If she does have Jason’s jacket, we’ll make sure it gets to the right hands, or at least we’ll _know_ whose hands it’s resting in. I don’t want his murderer carrying Jason’s legacy as some weird token.”

“Neither do I!” Reggie protests, fists tightening. That’s good. An emotional response is good.

Betty takes one more step towards him in the hopeful attempt he’ll see that they’re on the same _general_ mission. Reggie stiffens but doesn’t retreat, eyeing her like she’s a puppy he’s not sure is gonna bite or play with him, tempted to pet it nonetheless. He quirks an eyebrow, glancing down the hall one more time.

“Look, Betty. What I tell you, you take to the grave.”

Jughead snorts behind them. _Ironic_ , she can practically hear him intone. Betty nods whilst maintaining eye contact with their conflicted jock. This has to be taken seriously. She could _blink_ and lose him.

Taking a deep breath, Reggie leads her to a section of the hall he presumably finds more private, Jughead following a short distance behind.

“Jason said he needed a hookup, traded me some of his stuff for one of my dad’s old junkers. I tend to get first dibs on trade-ins and leases, so it was easy to set him up. Thought maybe he just wanted to go out of town incognito in something that wasn’t that bright lipstick red.”

Biting her lip to prevent herself from interrupting, Betty glances at Reggie’s chest. The lack of eye contact seems to _release_ him of responsibility, because the next section comes without as much guilt.

”I’d thought maybe he was trying to pick up some other girl in a town over. Turns out he was just worried about being seen with Polly. Weird parents and all that. But he needed money for…whatever. Something he didn’t want his parents to know about. Figured it might’ve been a tattoo or birth control or I dunno. I didn’t ask.” Although his shoulder-shrug is apologetic, it’s clear Reggie’s out of his element. She gets the feeling the Bulldogs are more of an _ask and you shall receive_ group of friends. Loyalty without substance. Or…Loyalty without question, which can be just as dangerous. She had certainly done some crazy things in the name of protecting Archie, but never without question.

“Jason was curious about my, uh, trade program. Couldn’t have us working the same pool, if you know what I’m saying, so I might’ve told him…where he could find people.” Betty shakes her head, needing more. “People who…could get him things. To sell. Or do. Whatever. No one specific. Just told him that kind of business was usually on the south side of town. He thanked me, and we went back to being friends. No big deal.”

“And that’s the last you heard from him?”

“He was still around for a few weeks after that. Honestly, he seemed more excited and anxious than afraid. Well, except when his parents almost caught us skinny dipping in the pool. It was a normal summer. We went driving and played football like _all_ summer when he wasn’t doing his little side hustles. Saw him with Polly a few times but we never really ah, talked about it beyond…guy stuff. You know.”

Her fist curls in her palm. _Think happy thoughts_ , she demands, surprise overruling anger when Reggie’s tan hand finds itself on her arm. She stares at it, borderline bewildered.

“Look, Betty, I’m sorry I can’t help more. Jason was…well he may not have been the greatest _guy_ from where you’re standing, but he was a great friend. A great quarterback. Bulldogs take care of their own. If you find out who shot him, you tell me.”

“I will,” she reassures him through sheer determination. As if on cue, Jughead steps up to provide some distance between the two.

“Was there anything he said about his trip to the south side?”

The weight of Reggie’s hand lets up on her arm to smooth back his slightly damp hair. “Only that they’d given him a territory outside of Riverdale.”

“They? Who’s they?” Jughead asks, gaze narrow in focus, neck hunched forward.

“I dunno, man. He didn’t say. It’s not my guys who tend to hang out by the gas station, and nobody I talked to on that side had seen him.”

“And you believed them?” The accusation in Jughead’s voice surprises her, and she lays a hand on his shoulder. _Reign it in._

_I can’t_ , the throbbing vein in his neck seems to tell her.

Reggie squints at Jug like he’s insane for even suggesting it, and Betty can tell that they’re done here. Jason was talking to someone on the south side. So…maybe they’ll have to poke around there for more answers.

“Thank you for your time, Reggie. If you can think of _anything_ else—”

“Whoa whoa whoa, that’s it? Aren’t you gonna do something for me?”

Betty blinks, confused, glancing from a glowering Jughead to Reggie’s expectant face. “Like…what? You’re not _actually_ expecting a date, are you?”

“No,” he sniffs, straightening at the implication. “But the least you could do is put in a good word for me. Ever since the whole Playbook debacle, girls have been a lot more nervous about…”

“Exploitation?” she finishes, arching an eyebrow.

“Dating a football player.” His scowl at her baiting _almost_ brings a smirk to Jughead’s face.

“Okay, well…is there someone in particular…?”

“Take a picture with me. Have Jughead do it. Show that we’re _friends_ on social media or whatever.”

“You want me to pretend to be your friend?”

Surprisingly, Reggie looks affronted. “Damn, Cooper, I just opened up to you and this is how you repay me? Some friend you are.”

“No, I’m sorry, I just don’t get it. Is this like Chuck’s sticky maple setup, or…?”

“You think I’m as stupid as Chuck Clayton? Someone like me doesn’t need to lie about his dates, and I’m definitely not stupid enough to post about my success stories on social media.”

Jughead rolls his eyes, annoyed gaze hovering on Betty to follow her lead. _Are we seriously stooping to this level?_ Betty isn’t sure how to respond.

“Come on, no sticky maples or innuendos, I promise. Just… _friendly_. Platonic. Like you and Jones, here.”

Reggie’s arm crawls along her shoulders, trying to pull her in for a hug. She knows what he’s doing, big smile plastered on his face while he stares down a slit-eyed Jug. “I’m gonna have to go with _no_ on this one.” Plucking his arm from her shoulders, Betty slides back to Jughead’s side. “Considering we’re all supposed to be in detention, it’s probably best we didn’t take pictures acting all chummy in the halls.”

“So, _maybe later_?”

The bravado is staggering, and she isn’t quite sure what to make of it. “How about when we find Polly, I’ll reconsider it?”

“You got it, Cooper.” Reggie winks. “See you later, Breakfast Club.”

With a well-timed saunter, Reggie slings his sunglasses on and exits the building.

“Un- _fucking_ -believable,” Jughead mutters, cracking his neck with a jerky motion to his right. With a deep sigh through his nose, his eyes glisten down the expanse of hallway, swirling and hardening with resolve. “Come on. Let’s go.”

He moves without taking her hand. It’s not like they _constantly_ have to be attached, but she feels her fingers twitch all the same. He’s still in _don’t fucking touch me_ mode, neck forward, shoulders hunched and braced for contact, maybe because of Reggie?

They’re both buried so deeply in their own minds that they don’t immediately pick up the sound of a rolling cart. Jughead must sense her stiffen at his side, and turns. Pained, she tries to search him for a hint as to how much she should she be activating _solution mode_.

They better not have to _actually_ pull a Breakfast Club and run back to the classroom. Jughead claims to know the janitorial staff habits. If it’s Svenson, he usually keeps his head down, working slow. Maybe he won’t see them. Maybe…

“Of _course_ he’d take a late lunch today. We should’ve just run back to the window…”

The sound of the cart rolls precariously closer.

“We have to go,” Betty hisses, half-grabbing Jug’s elbow before darting down the hall. She tries one of the classroom doors, but it rattles in protest. Snagging a bobby pin out of her ponytail, Betty’s tongue slips to the side of her mouth as her fingers pry at the lock.

“Jesus, Betty, there’s no _time_.”

With large hands and impressive strength, Jughead hauls her towards a closet.

“What—?”

“ _Don’t say anything_ ,” he commands, face so serious that she couldn’t imagine contradicting him. There’s only the briefest flash of light in the closet as he pushes her forward, hand in a death grip around her arm to keep her close. There's a file cabinet. Some hoodies. Something rumpled in the corner. It’s certainly not janitorial stuff. Jughead closes the door in behind her, their bodies pressed flush together in the narrow, slanted space. It’s entirely dark except for the tiniest sliver of light coming out from their feet. Given a minute, she can probably adjust to the dark.

“Close your eyes,” he whispers, breath hot at her ear. Goosebumps break out along her skin. She wants to ask _why,_ but he told her not to talk.

“Close them, Betty. I mean it.”

How does he know whether she’s done it or not? She supposes she could chalk it up to their unspoken connection.

His hand finds purchase on her hip, the contact sending a little jolt through her bones. The little crown he drew must be lighting up every nerve ending she’s got. Her veins swell with anticipation, and with a deep breath, she obeys.

Closing her eyes in the dark is somehow thrilling. Subversive. She can _sense_ him better. It would surprise her if Jughead couldn’t hear, let alone _feel_ her pulse racing against him through their connection.

Jughead lets her build up in the silence, his hand still lightly grazing her hip.

She likes this. The thrill of getting caught. Of being close. Solving a mystery. Maybe he was onto something about her recent bout of outward rebellion. Adrenaline pumping through her veins, Betty allows her own hand to trace over his, fingers splaying as far as they can reach.

Nervous, his fingers seem to skid, gripping for purchase as she drags his thumb just under the hem of her shirt so he can _feel_ how warm she is. It’s just his fingertips on her midriff, but it makes her breathing more labored all the same. She feels him crane his neck up, then down, nestling his lips against her hair in a way she’s not sure is due to their sheer proximity or genuine desire to show affection. Curious, she pushes her hips back, the roughness of his denim and belt grating on her lower back, and on her ass…

Hardness.

Like another limb has joined them in the darkness. She feels him inhale desperately behind her. If he hadn’t commanded her so deliciously, she’s sure her eyes would pop wide open.

Jughead Jones not only _likes_ her, he…he _wants_ her. Here. Now.

Headiness threatens to overwhelm her. The closet’s so small, and her heart’s beating _so_ fast…

She slowly guides him further up the underside of her sweater. His hand trembles a little, but his body stays firm and muscular behind her. This touch has the opposite effect of a drop of water. His fingers trail upwards, leaving a simmering need in their wake. Breath warms her ear again, his mouth dipping down to the side of her face. She arches her back, longing for his voice again. A command. Instead, she feels his other hand slide across her stomach, joining the fray of sensation.

_Juggie_ , she wants to moan, her entire body tingling in anticipation. He presses his lips against her skin in closed, quiet comfort. But she needs more than that. Itches and aches for this in a way that makes her feel needy. Powerful but needing substance, a funnel for this newfound energy.

They hesitate when his hand is _just_ under the cup of her bra. Her sweater’s already bunched around her middle and they have _no_ idea where the janitor is, but it’s certainly not right outside their door, so she’s not sure why the hesitation. Maybe this is normal? To make sure...to be ready?

She leans her head back against him, exposing her neck and arching just the slightest bit. An offering. The wetness of his mouth on her neck draws an unexpected gasp out of her even before his hand cusps and covers her breast. The other hand quickly, gently comes up over her mouth to muffle her moans, Jughead nipping into her skin to smother his own. His hardness grinds against her, slowly pumping against the slightly more giving flesh off her ass.

Almost like she’s being strapped in for a ride, Jughead’s arms tighten their grip around her. Needing more, she helps his one hand tug down the cup of her bra. Circling her nipple has him pulsing violently behind her, mouth buried into her shoulder with a muffled groan.

_Oh,_ she realizes, breathless as she feels him shudder, hips bucking in a way she doesn’t think he can even control. Collar moist with his saliva, and maybe even a little wetness from his eyes, Betty mourns the loss of attention behind her. Is that sick? To want him to rut against her in a closet with his hand up her shirt?

Removing his hand from her bra cup, Jughead hugs her tightly, kissing her shoulder and breathing heavily.

As much as she’s filled with warmth, with love, and can appreciate he’s probably wet the front of his jeans…she really wants a fucking hand. Release.

Closing her eyes tight enough for moisture to leak out, she reaches up, dragging his face over her shoulder for a deep kiss. It’s chaste on his end at first, sweet. Thankful. _Please_ , she tries to convey, opening her mouth wider, tongue gently wetting his lips. _Please please please_.

Stunned at first, he seems to realize what she wants, his right hand dropping over her stomach and lingering on the top of her jeans as his kisses loosen into languid, molten affection. Nodding, she kisses him deeper, only turning away when his hand slips back into her bra. She feels a low, quiet moan reverberate in his chest, her own whimpers met with his hand again, his lips pressing quiet affirmations on her neck.

_Yes_ , she wants to moan. She bites her lip, wishing she could keep _herself_ quiet so he could do the amazing things she wants him to. Perhaps she can. Gently, she pushes his hand back to her breast, releasing it to help him unbutton her jeans. It’s a flurry of movement, all of it quiet, all of it desperate. She covers her own mouth and grips his shoulder over hers in an attempt to hold on.

She’s not sure what to expect. She’s explored herself in the quiet, unsure way she’d wanted to _know_ something. To know _herself_. But Jughead already knows her so intimately. Yet somehow it’s a shock to her system when his fingers slip under her denim, over the cotton underwear to the damp splotch she aches for him.

_Here?_ he seems to ask, pressing a firm kiss to the underside of her jaw.

_There_ , she nods, tempted to ask him to forego the underwear completely.

Is she the easiest girl in the world? Shoving his hands down her pants the same day they’d had their first kiss? But she can’t _help_ it, even as her hips squirm at the amazing friction between her legs. This all feels _natural_ with him, like breathing, like waking up. A warm high that builds suddenly and desperately inside of her like water boiling over coils. They must be each other’s conduits.

His fingers are much thicker than hers. Longer, too. The rubbing motion is _good_. Not without slipping off its target occasionally since he is fumbling in the dark, but Jughead’s pressed so intimately against her that he senses every pass. Every whimper, every moment of stillness, until he’s sort of worked out a rhythm that makes her even wetter and more desperate. His lips press against her shoulder with anguish, and to her surprise she can feel that phantom limb poking behind her once again. Not as insistently as before, but it’s waking up, eager to join the defiling of this closet in a new way.

Knotting her nipple, Jughead continues to work her, fingers digging against the thin material to meet her throbbing, aching need. Betty feels like she’s overflowing, about to cry, to release, to bend over and burst apart.

_Inside_ , she wants to breathe. _I need you inside of me_.

But she’s _good_. And he told her not to say anything. Her eyes are rolling back against her eyelids and she’s not sure she could open them even if she wanted to at this point.

It’s spirals. Infinite spirals, white spots streaming behind her eyes as his finger trails the mark into her nipple, against her clit, his lips suctioned hard and long on the back of her neck.

Even through her palm, she lets out a cry. Pulses of warmth and want and relief overwhelm her, knees turning to jelly as she jerks forward in his arms. Jughead’s so surprised that he struggles to lean with her, bending to hold her tighter.

“Sh, baby.”

For some reason, his endearment only makes her tremble harder, new waves washing over her until tears are streaming down her face, every ounce of her vibrating against him. With heavy, deep breaths, the roar in her ears finally dies down to a whisper. She feels wet, soaked through with sweat and tears and sex, and they didn’t even take their clothes off.

Vaguely, she wonders how Jughead managed to keep standing after _his_ orgasm, and considers how opposed he'd be to help carry her back to the classroom. Lost in thought and exhausted satiation, her eyelashes part to clear the stickiness of moisture. She doesn’t mean to open her eyes a little, and is surprised when through her bleary awareness, Jughead’s fingers still pressed but not circling her wetness, she realizes the bundle of linens in the corner is actually over a mattress.

Faintness threatens to overwhelm her, and she’s not sure if it’s similar for girls when they say that blood rushes from the brain.

“Jug?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was aiming for page 21. At page 19, I was like, "ISN'T THIS ENOUGH?" and then somehow I got to page 27 so...that's writing sometimes.
> 
> Note to self: if you want to write a cute smutty investigation romp, maybe don't deal with plots as complicated as Riverdale throws out on a regular basis XD Hopefully if the investigation's not what you're here for the smut and fluff made up for it. Let me know? I'm needy and like hearing about your favorite moments and sentences.
> 
> Also sorry if anything is incorrect grammatically or in life. Have you ever re-read something so much that words start to lost meaning? That is my level of DayQuil consumption comprehension. Squinty hopefulness that things sound good. Having an orgasm while standing up is a difficult thing btw. Props to any female-identifying ladies who are able to do it with a modicum of grace.


	4. Something

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which they test the limits of self-control

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some of you caught where the little hints were leading. Grand reveal! The smut gets a little kinky, but as with most ~sensual~ scenes it's pretty obvious when it's happening so scroll if you're sensitive and we'll all be happy with the rest of detention, yes? Thank you ma'am, may I have another?

His heart struggles for balance along with the rest of him. Betty’s dragging his center of gravity forward towards the mattress. From the tender, shocked way she’s touching his wrist, it feels like they’re careening off the edge of some invisible precipice.

It’s all so new, potentially fragile. He needs her to stand up, to face him and smother her cheeks against his chest so she never has to see what’s buried in the corner of this closet.

His hand slips from inside her bra to wrap around her ribcage, the other leaving its damp cotton sanctuary for her hips. If only he could get the right leverage, he could haul her back upright. Squeezing tightly, he tries to bend his knees and push upwards. For some reason it feels like has to close his eyes, to shut off that sense. The feel of her warmth, the smell of her sex and shampoo, all of it overwhelms him.

_Please don’t leave me._

Soft, delicate fingers wrap over his own. She bends to the side, her hair brushing his face, just so she can kiss the upper part of his arm before struggling forward towards the mattress. His death grip loosens, because he knows now.

She can see it.

She can see him.

She’s opened her eyes in this pitch black and made out the shape of his failure sitting in the corner for both of them to mock.

One hand out, like she needs to _feel_ as well as see it, Betty falls to her knees on the edge of his linens, the mattress absorbing the sound of impact. A dull, gnawing hunger works his insides and he wonders if he’s going to collapse along with her.

_Please, no._

Cautious, she climbs forward, tentatively touching his hoodie before very carefully turning her knees and facing him. Her eyes shine in the dark. With what? Tears? Exhaustion? Judgment? _Love_?

He doesn’t know.

Acidic anxiety tumbles inside of him, a stark contrast to the adrenaline-fueled lust he’d been consumed by moments ago. Maybe now he’s just an ashen husk.

“Betty,” he whispers, hoping his voice isn’t as broken as it sounds.

They sit in silence for a few more moments, listening as the squeaky wheels of the janitor’s cart fade into nothing.

He makes out the vague shape of her hands reaching up for him. To be pulled up? To drag him down? Either way, he takes her palms in his own and hopes this bond is strong enough for whichever outcome.

It seems neither of them know which direction to go, simply holding each other’s hands in the dark. Betty eventually makes the decision, fingertips gently caressing the vulnerable underside of his wrist before bracing her legs and attempting to stand to join him. She doesn’t have to do that by herself. Jughead pulls her up, shocked when she wraps her arms around his neck in a tight, almost smothering hug. Hot breath puffs against him through her nose, and Jughead encircles her lower waist to try and keep her with him.

_Please._

_Always_ , is the tight squeeze of a reply.

Wishful thinking isn’t enough to satisfy him right now. He needs Betty…all of her, including her face…in daylight, to read things properly. He reaches back to unlatch the closet door and flood the room with enlightenment. Betty squints, watery eyes blinking at the sudden onslaught of brightness. Her ponytail’s askew and her cheeks are flushed, lightly dusted in moisture. There has never been and never will be anyone else this beautiful. The thought is so solid it’s almost painful, like a sharp iron prod right to his gut.

They don’t say anything for a second, Betty glancing from him to the hallway like she’s a little lost.

“You…go ahead to the bathroom. I’m gonna get cleaned up,” he murmurs, quietly leading her out of his makeshift living space.

She’s probably upset.

Fuck it all, he’s made Betty Cooper upset.

“But Jug—”

“I’ll be fine. Meet you back in the classroom in five.”

He assaults her with a firm peck on the lips to silence any debate on the matter, quickly shutting himself back in the closet before she can say anything else.

 _Fuck_.

He swipes his face with his palm, only haphazardly realizing he’s probably just smeared a little bit of Betty down his face.

 _Shit_.

Nothing to do about that now.

He yanks open the makeshift dresser/file cabinet and roots for a clean pair of underwear. The watery gel-like coolness in the front of his pants isn’t going to help him deal with _this_. Whatever _this_ is. Or will be.

If he knows Betty at all, she’s not one to let something go. He’d been the one desperately trying to cling to her as she’d slid out of the booth at Pop’s and sauntered right up to Archie, Fred, and Grundy and demanded an explanation. Wheedled out the truth from everyone around her. He’d watched as she tore Archie a new one in the parking lot, righteous fury blazing behind her eyes. And left. She came back eventually, but she left.

He really hopes she doesn’t fucking leave.

By the time he’s changed, he’s come up with a makeshift story in his head. Damage control. Always damage control. Because everything is fine. It’s under control. He has a plan.

But the second he swings the door open all of that goes out the window because Betty’s standing right where he left her, arms folded across her chest, lips bitten down, and enough of a solid presence to convince him he’s not having a heart attack or illusion.

“Betty, what are you—I told you to go—”

“I’m not going anywhere, Jug.” She has the frustrated kitten look on her face, and more than anything he wants to smooth it with his thumb until she’s purring and happy again. His hand finds itself on her upper arm, soothing her somewhere he knows is safe. Softening, she takes a little breath, her arms lowering just a fraction. “Let’s get to the classroom and then we can talk, okay?”

“Okay. Do you, um…” Whatever words he’s searching for seem to rattle and drop down his throat. “Need anything?”

“No. Do you?”

At first, he’s not sure how to proceed, so he stuffs his hands in his pockets and ambles ahead towards the classroom again. The janitor cart is nowhere in sight, so they should have enough time to get down there. His hand leaves his pocket to gesture her along. To his surprise, Betty basically prances to his side, fingers sliding into his as if they’ve practiced this a hundred times. A little dumbfounded, he stares at their joined hands, peripherally entranced by the way her ponytail sways behind her.

This is still happening.

Folding his fingers over hers, Jughead makes quick work of the walk back to class. This time she doesn’t make a fuss when he holds the door open for her.

It’ll be a miracle if they make it to ten seconds without her bringing it up. She brings him over to the sturdy teacher’s desk and hops up. Legs crossed, she fixes him with those vibrant eyes. No wonder people spill their life story when faced with Betty’s entreaties. Jughead has to actively swallow to prevent himself from word-vomiting his guts all over her.

“So…should we talk about it?”

“Which… _it_?” he manages, albeit weakly. “Today had more revelations than an episode of _The X-Files_.”

A small smile of affection shines through the worry swimming on her face. “The closet.”

He clears his throat. “I, um…I’m a fan of what happened in there. It might’ve gotten a little messier and heated than anticipated, but…” A sheepish grin crawls over the heat on his face, a nice blanket for his trembling nerves. “I’m really glad we got the chance to do that.”

Betty tilts her head, studying him. “I’ll agree, that was…” Her cheeks warm, eyes darting away. They shimmer with the same reverence of Sweetwater on a sunny day. “Amazing.” His ego blossoms in his chest, branching and spreading with the fullness of spring.

 _Amazing_ , he repeats internally, unable to fight the glee writhing inside of him. Maybe she won’t even _want_ to talk about the other stuff. They can just let it lay. He reaches out, one finger teasing the underside of her palm until he can spread her hands out above his own, linking them again.

Betty winces at the contact, but seems to relax by sliding further into him. Her voice sounds soft, sincere. “Jughead…I’m not going to judge you.”

A pang of guilt stabs at his side. Of course she isn’t. She’s Betty.

But that’s not…

He didn’t want to…

“Look, it’s not that big of a deal,” he half-laughs, hope and levity quickly circling the drain. Betty keeps looking at him, big green eyes full of hope and pleading. “I just—I didn’t want to worry you.”

“Worry me about what? What’s going on?”

“Nothing. It’s—I sleep here sometimes.” Betty’s eyebrow stays arched, waiting for words that’ll help his story land. “It’s not—I mean, it’s basically like having a nap closet to myself. Every teenager’s dream, right?”

“Juggie, why are you sleeping here?”

How is she so _soft_? So direct?

Groaning, he leans his hips towards her. “Things with my dad haven’t been that great.”

“Is he hurting you?” Her fingers tighten on him. While endearing, it’s also somehow funny. That after all this, _she’s_ the one who won’t let him go.

“No, not yet. He’s just…drinking. A lot. Even though most of the time he’s at the Wyrm or sleeping it off, it still…I can’t just sleep in a house with bottles rattling and my dad barging in at all hours to puke on the kitchen floor. It’s not…healthy. It’s certainly not sustainable.”

It’s easier to look at their joined hands than it is to look at her face. He fiddles with her fingers, hoping that’s enough for her.

“Of course not, Jug. That’s awful.” Her thumb smooths over his hands. She traces the very bottom of his jaw so gently it almost makes him ache. “How long?”

His mouth tugs down in a frown. “Does it matter?” A sharp inhale and her little frown cut down his blithe attitude. Betty deserves his honesty. “I was staying at the Twilight but…my dad’s deadbeat drug-dealer gang made a mess of the place and it was torn down. Since then, I became the Boy Who Lived Under the Stairs.” He manages a smirk, and although the corners of her mouth lift for him, the lightness doesn’t reach her eyes.

This girl changes everything for him. Dropping all pretense, he frames her face with his hands so they're forced to look directly at one another. No more hiding. No more pretending. He's not going to let his horrid living situation and deadbeat dad screw this up for them. “Betty, I don’t need you to fix this.”

“But I—”

“I’m working it out.”

Struggling not to burst, Betty manages a shaky exhale. “Okay. What is your plan?”

“I’m…gonna find a room.”

“A classroom?”

Despite the situation, he finds himself laughing, stroking her cheeks. “No, sweetie. I reserve those for my tattoo sessions.”

“Juggie,” she smiles, and it warms his heart to see the light returning there.

“No, a…I don’t know. Somewhere. I just don’t have the funds right now for anything beyond food, to be honest.”

She tilts her head, eyes shining in a way that makes him feel like he’s on his back staring up at the sky. “We’re a team. You’re not gonna go through this alone, okay? Not detention, not the locker room. I am on and by your side. You got that?” Her hands cover his, leaning forward to convince him with a quick kiss. It’s like an espresso shot of calmness that pools right in his gut. “So…why don’t you move into Polly’s old room for a while?”

Laughter overtakes him at the surreal aspects of the suggestion. He steps back to rub his face, belatedly remembering he still hasn’t washed his hands. “Betts, I appreciate the thought, but we’re probably gonna find Polly by the end of next week. I can almost guarantee it.”

“Well we’re not finding her _today,_ ” she reasons, eyebrows doing their little convincing dance. “And you need a place. Tonight. If not immediately.”

“So…what? You’re going to call Hal and Alice Cooper, number one Jones family fans, and tell them not only am I coming for dinner, but I’m staying over in their estranged daughter’s bedroom until further notice? Oh, _also_ ,” he raises a finger, “I am now a closet case and your burger aficionado boyfriend?” That’s about the nicest thing he can imagine the Coopers will associate with him.

Betty flushes from the tips of her ears down to her nose, and he wonders if all references to closets with hold the duality of being a source of shame and wonderment for the near future. “We don’t have to tell them _everything_ , but I do think it makes sense to talk to them. Or Fred, or even Pop, since they’re some of the few that haven’t made it to the murder board. I know we’re used to sneaking around for the investigation, but I don’t want to have to hide what we are from anyone else.”

_What we are._

Like whatever he is, she is too.

Is that love? Or is that just _Betty_?

He stifles the urge to shove his face against her and blinks, trying to regroup. “If it’s really that important to you, we can talk to them.”

“Maybe we can talk to Fred and my parents at the same time,” she offers, and it’s not the _worst_ idea he’s ever heard.

“They do seem to balance each other out. Plus, if I turn up dead, at least we’ll know who killed me and Jason Blossom.” He cups her cheek, hoping to savor her annoyance at his offhanded murder jokes. “But I need you to promise me something. No going to the south side. No talking to my dad.”

“But Jug—”

“No. It’s important to me. Whoever Jason and Reggie have been dealing with…possibly people like my dad,” His glance darts off to the side. _Whoever_. Like he doesn’t have an idea. “They’re not good people.”

She nuzzles into his cheek, staring at him with such firm support that it should be studied by scientists. “That just means we’ll have to investigate together.”

He inhales, about to protest, but she’s already quirking an eyebrow to challenge him.

_What about teamwork?_

_What about_ **_them_ ** _being safe?_

The argument dies on his lips. He’ll probably need her if he’s going to deal with the possibility that his dad’s involved in a murder anyway. Shoulders sagging, he fixes her with as much resolve as he can muster. “Okay.”

“Okay,” she beams, nodding with such earnestness that she ought to have the Mary Tyler Moore theme song blasting in the background. “Now let’s wash up and do some homework before Pop comes back.”

“Betty,” he groans, tilting his head back. “ _Please_ …”

“We can have a boyfriend break every fifteen minutes. Come on. Let’s go,” she urges, tugging his hand as she corrals them towards being functioning members of society.

“Tell me more about this boyfriend break…”

It’s like kissing Betty Cooper has turned up the dial on his life, his brain simmering and bubbling with thoughts and urges and sometimes just quieting to nothing but a dull, quiet heat.

She, however, is hyper focused on the science lab report in front of her. “Two more minutes, Juggie.”

He sighs, continuing to stare at the side of her face. His whole life he’s felt like he’s been waiting to kiss Betty Cooper. What’s two more minutes?

Her teeth niggle into her bottom lip. “How are you already done?”

“I may have taken a few shortcuts.”

Pausing her thought being transferred to paper, she straightens and fixes him with a stare.

“It’s _my_ homework, Betts.”

“Come on, you _have_ to write out two to three sentences after each answer.”

“Why?”

“Exactly! The why! Mr. Geiss will only give you half credit if you don’t explain your answer.” She leans over, pointing to his paper. His gaze follows the curve of her cheekbones, and he can’t help leaning forward to plant a kiss on it. She jerks back, startled by the affection. “ _Juggie_.”

Her little pout is _amazing_ up close. Teasing her now that they’re _together_ might be even more fun than the banter from before.

“I heard. You want _more_.”

Her pencil dabs at his desk. “I _want_ you to write two more sentences.”

Pulling one knee up against his chest in an awkward yet somehow satisfying way to lounge, Jughead sighs. “Fine. I will take up my pen again, for your sake, and mine. That boyfriend break better be the stuff of legends.”

She peeks over, bemused at his scrawling answers, as she finishes up the last little touches of her own. “Hey, Reggie may have called us Buffy and Xander, but if you don’t act like a perfect Angel, I reserve the right to stake you with this pencil.”

Only she can draw out an embarrassingly gargling laugh from him. “A Buffy reference, a threat, and a pun? You really are my dream girl. And here I’d lost Faith that we’d ever be more than friends.”

Expression softening, she considers him in a way that makes his whole body feel like it’s full of electricity, drawn to her magnetically.

But he can’t help cracking a smirk, aligning his face towards hers. “I guess this is the Dawn of a new part of our relationship.”

Her hands smack the desk in frustration. “Oh, you _had_ to ruin it.”

“She ruined the show! Not the moment!”

After a bit more bickering over the validity of certain plot devices, they both acknowledge that it is in fact time for a boyfriend break. With an eagerness usually reserved for a hot meal, Jughead reaches over the desks and angles their faces in an attempt to see just how close they can get. Kissing is a wonderful thing. Soft, velvet lips coat his own. A grin breaks their seal.

“What is it?” he murmurs, elbow accidentally knocking into the stupid metal bar separating them.

“It’s just…my brain feels stimulated.”

“A whole lot of you should you be feeling _stimulated_.”

“Juggie,” she laughs, twisting so she can lean into him.

“Is this the most uncomfortable way to kiss or what? You’d think they designed it to dig into elbows and ribs.”

“They didn’t design it for kissing at all.”

“Oh.”

She licks her lips, eyeing him with a twinkle of mischief. “But I hear the teacher’s desk doesn’t have any barriers.”

“ _Oh_. Perhaps we should test out some new positions then. But I have to warn you, I don’t have _that_ much clean underwear.”

“ _Not_ something you share with the class, Jug. You’re not the only one with an underwear problem.” Her smile leaves him quivering, even more so when she turns and sways her hips on the way to the desk. _Damn_. The strange urge to palm and spank her ass rushes through him. Maybe not on their first date. He’ll have to ask if she likes that.

It’s still bewildering that he gets to spend his entire day with her…assuming the Coopers don’t have him thrown into Sweetwater. Anyone else besides her or Archie and he’d be going into hermit mode. Reading a book. Writing his novel. But he never wants this to end. He never wants _detention_ to end. How messed up is that?

“What are you thinking about?” she asks, head tilted in a way that makes her ponytail lean in an adorable bouncing way that makes him want to bat at it like a cat. Or tug it…tugging seems like a nice option. “Is it something…dirty?”

Tongue poking between her teeth, Betty pulls the truth out of him like a syrup sieve in one of the maple trees.

He puts his palms flat on his desk, taking his time to stand up, just like she took her damn time swaying her ass at him. He rises with purpose. With control. Her eyes light up in approval, darkening as his shadow falls over her. “I was just thinking about how we’ve been in detention all day, and yet I don’t think you’ve been properly disciplined.”

Her eyebrows arch in surprise. “What do you mean?”

“I think you _need_ it.” He leans towards her, hands restraining themselves behind his back. At this distance he feels the magnetic tug towards her lips, his eyelashes wanting to flutter shut. She struggles against it too, drifting and restraining herself with her teeth in her lower lip. His strong persona needs to stay in place for this to work, though. He clears his throat, looking down on her. “What have you done today? _After_ your punishment? You brought in contraband, organized a breakout, participated in lewd activity…and yet you haven’t had one _slap_ of discipline.” Their lips are mere inches apart. “I think I’ve been going too easy on you.”

Her stance widens, lips rolling together as she glances at his mouth. Those big eyes of hers dilate, ready for suggestion.

“Maybe you need a firm hand to remind you what happens when you step out of line.”

With a little smirk, Betty unbuttons her jeans. The noise draws his gaze down her hand, hoping to see flesh underneath. His mouth runs dry as she twists past him to pend. She flattens her forearms on the teacher’s desk and arches her ass in the air, just _tempting_ him to touch her behind. A coy little once-over greets him over her shoulder. “Show me.”

Those two syllables bring him to full mast, blood rushing almost painfully to his dick. Being with Betty has always been a fantasy, but _this_ …she’s _so_ …

She wiggles her ass at him, teeth niggling at her lower lip.

His voice must be three octaves lower when it comes out, arousal making it husky and manly and other things he never even bothered to care about until the moment he realizes how much it turns her on. “Do you trust me, Betts?” His hand smooths over her jean-clad ass, worshipping the surface.

“Mmhm.”

Her voice is like honey. Adjusting his crotch for relief, Jughead tries to prepare for the fantastic reality to come. He’s never struck a girl. She’s inviting him to, and it’s not like _hitting her,_ but it still requires some mental push-ups nonetheless. It’s Betty. _His Betty_.

Even that makes his eyes shut in satisfaction.

“I’m gonna strike you three times, okay baby?”

She makes a small, throaty noise of affirmation.

 _Ohhhh_ this detention is the best thing that’s ever happened to him.

In a snap decision, he smacks her with his open palm. It’s hard enough that she rocks forward, a gasp parting her lips. It’s a struggle not come right then. Jughead fights to keep control of the situation by taking a few deep breaths alongside her panting desperation. _Keep it together_ , he reminds himself. She needs him. The relief and surging adrenaline makes him feel like he can fly.

On the second slap, his hand lingers, caressing the flesh with an affectionate palm. Soothing it right afterwards takes the sting away in his hand, and no doubt on her ass. From this angle, he can see her eyes flutter close, relishing the sensation. He savors _her_ too.

“Come on, baby, one more time.”

She blows air out her lips in a concentrated effort to calm down. The rock of her hips edges them closer to this new high. He waits, counting the beats and watching her body until the moment’s right.

The smack resounds in the room, and he ends up grabbing her ass more than slapping it, scooping her almost an inch the air. Scrambling, off-balance, she tries to regain her breath. “Juggie!”

“You think you got enough, babe?” He squeezes harder, his other hand steadying her hip. “Because I’m still sensing some resistance.”

Her hips jab back until she’s rubbing against his groin. “ _Fuck_ you and your resistance.”

“Ooh, _fuck_ , I like that. I’ll show you resistance. Three more on your other cheek ought to balance you out.”

Her grin nearly splits her face, and they both cry out with each resounding slap. Teeth might snap in his jaw from grinding them so hard. At the third, she rocks her head back, and he takes it as a cue to wrap his hand in her ponytail, the other doing light strokes on her backside in the hopes that it soothes and stimulates her.

“You were so good, Betty. I never thought you could be as quiet as you were.”

“You told me I needed—discipline,” she bites out, right as he yanks her head back for a possessive kiss. The way their mouths slowly savor each other fills him with a sensual hunger that only primal instinct knows how to sate.

“Can I see it?”

Momentarily shocked out of the scene, she widens her eyes. “You want to see the mark? My…” She gestures over her chin, and the fact that she was telling him to _fuck_ himself earlier yet now can’t say something that refers to her ass is so endearing hilarious that he has to bite down on his grin.

“Please?”

It’s not like he hasn’t seen his other mark on her, the crown he wants sunken into her skin, sucked lovingly until every nerve ending screams the depths of their bond. In lieu of the inky mark, no doubt smudged by their more vigorous activities, he wants to see their trust in a new light. A new section of canvas.

Huffing out a deep breath, Betty looks up at the ceiling and wiggles her jeans down. His eyes linger hungrily on each inch of bared flesh. The supple soft curve of her ass is painted in fingered, rosy splashes of his love. It’s _beautiful_. He reaches out to touch it, marvel at it with his eyes and hands.

Nervous, she glances over her shoulder, pulling at her makeshift thong until it joins her jeans halfway down her thighs. “Just…don’t tell anyone about this.”

“Trust me when I say I want every depraved and delightful part of you to myself.”

His fingers dance down until he can fully grasp and lift her bare ass. An aching insistence between his legs pushes his own hips forward until he’s pressed against her for relief. After their time in the closet, he’s not afraid that he’ll scare her off with _this_. With wanting friction. Comfort. Sex. Control.

And love.

He never expected _any_ of it. What a gift. A treasure.

As she pushes back, she gives him what he needs. She gives him love.

“Oh, Betty,” he groans, one hand sliding up under the back of her shirt. It bunches over the arch in her back, and he’s gripped with the desire to shove it all the way up, but she’s already given him so much. “My discipline may not be as good as I thought. The sight of you is making me need terrible things.” Her head falls forward, ponytail flipping like a distress signal. “You need things too, don’t you Betty? After taking your lashes so well…will you…can I…?”

“ _Please_ ,” she mutters, hips pushing back against him. “I think—your hands. I want both of us. At the same time.”

“The same time?”

“Please, Juggie. I want to feel you against me but we can’t—and I don’t have any…I didn’t prepare for this.”

She sounds so _pained_ , so ashamed that she didn’t pack for this whirlwind romance. From the way she clenches her thighs, maybe she’s even a little nervous about what she looks like. But she’s _beautiful_. Always.

“Sorry,” she flushes, glancing over her shoulder at him. “It's just...this isn't like the closet. This time you can _see_ me.”

“I like what I'm seeing.” The softness in his tone seems to relax her. “We have time, Betts. As much as time as you need.” He strokes the tender blush on her butt cheeks. “Trusting me like this shows me how good you are, how good we’ll be. I’m going to give you what you need, Betty, however you need it.” She whimpers, the sound sending blood straight to his dick.

As much as he’d love to use his cock, his lady is right. They don’t have condoms. She has a pregnant sister. He doubts a used trail mix ziplock is gonna be good for anything other than making his prick a salty mess. So yes. He’ll use his hands.

He spreads her ass apart, amazed at the little set of fleshy lips with damp golden curls that they reveal. Inhaling through his nose to maintain a sense of calm, he catches a whiff of her arousal. It’s intoxicating. Possibly like huffing paint fumes. The incredible high makes his veins sing as he tentatively traces her slit. The lips seem to open, blooming pink folds begging to be filled with him.

Betty turns to look at him, shocked by the string of muttered expletives dribbling under his breath.

 _Are you okay? Is_ **_this_ ** _okay?_ Her wide eyes ask.

“Amazing.”

She blinks over her shoulder at him, and part of him wishes he could turn her around and they could watch each other properly. But if they _actually_ fuck on this desk he’s pretty sure neither of them will be able to look Pop Tate in the face when he comes back with his duffel bag of sustenance. Jughead's hoping he can engage one kind of appetite without tainting another.

He slips his fingers into her waiting warmth, the tight, clinging sensation making him throb in need. Pumping seems to yield her hip movement in return, more dampness slicking into his hand. Instead of just _in-and-out_ motions, he tries to add a bit of rubbing, a circular motion, a hook and a tapping. All of them elicit different things in different places, like an instrument he could play for hours and still yearn for the melody. Her gasps, the low moans of his name that she mutters into the classroom make his pants feel two sizes too small.

 _Both of them at the same time_ , she’d said, kind of like they accidentally started to do in the closet. He stuffs one hand down the front of his jeans, working himself to a dry rhythm. It’s not _ideal_ only because this time he doesn’t have any precum to help him out, but maybe…he switches hands, experimentally swiping a streak of Betty’s wetness against his length.

_Oh._

_Fuck_.

Confused, Betty turns, and he realizes his fingers have stopped moving inside of her. “What’s going on?”

“I was just…I needed some lubrication. Hope you don’t mind.” He swallows a smile, still reeling from the idea that her arousal is on him.

“I don’t mind.” Her hand reaches back, urging him closer by his hip.

“Betty, what are you…?”

“I want you take whatever you need.”

Realization dawning, he aligns his prick against her entrance. The velvety warmth grips him, licks and tempts him with its wet satisfaction. Legs trembling, he guides his length along her slit, groaning when she rocks her hips against him, nails scratching at his hips.

“Betty, I’m not gonna last. Just…even…”

The joys and failings of being an inexperienced teenage boy included overstimulation leading to a very messy, unplanned euphoria. He bites his teeth, willing himself to think of anything _except_ how fucking perfect she feels, how his tip is rubbing against her in a way that makes her rut that velvet until it envelops him, how he's soaked in her, and she’s _dripping_ for him.

“Ah, ahhhh,” he winces, trying to fight the tightening sensation in his lower abdomen.

“Juggie…” Her hand reaches between her legs, and for a second he thinks she's touching herself. But then her fingers swirl over _him, too,_ bringing them together in slick harmony. The world blacks out as lightning cracks across his insides.

“I'm--”

With ninja-quick precision, Betty palms over his tip, directing the thick, warm stream of cum into her waiting fingers and down into her underpants.

“Ah... _ah..._ ” His heart's still pounding like it would very much like to escape his chest. The painful thudding in his throat distracts him from impaling himself in embarrassment. “Betty, I'm sorry about that. It was just…”

“It's ok.” She straightens, his dick morosely slipping from her warmth. With careful precision, she's smoothing his cum between her fingers, shuffling to turn around despite the constriction on her lower half.

“Betty?”

Lost in thought, she looks down at his member. It’s still fairly hard as it rests in his grip. A hard knot slicks in his throat, wondering what she's thinking. If she likes it. If this is too much. Or if…something else entirely is going on.

Eyes pretty much blown black, Betty pops a finger in between her pretty pink lips. The moment contends for _most arousing thing he's seen in his life,_ his cock twitching at the sight of it. There's no disgust on her face, just mild curiosity. Like when she licks the whipped cream off her milkshakes.

Frozen, he waits for a signal. A sign of life, or even for the blue-green rim to reappear in her eyes. But she's puzzling it out. Watching him soften. _Thinking_. What an amazing mind she has. He finds himself studying her, lost in the familiar longing to brush her hair aside and crawl right inside her brain, her _being_.

It's anyone's guess how much time it is before she comes to, eyes snapping up to him in focused study.

“I need to get out of these.” She pushes her jeans down her hips, wobbling as she goes.

His hands shoot out to help her balance. “Hey, I've got you.”

With blushing uncertainty, she peels her underwear out of her jeans and holds it aside.  “Um. Maybe I can go to the bathroom and wash these out?”

“And dry them out with the hand dryer?” he mocks, bemused.

“Well I can’t exactly sit in _wetness_ , nor can I go commando.”

“Why not?” His gaze flickers to her bare lower half, his brain finally able to process it as part of a puzzle and not something to stare at and suck with wondrous adoration.

“Um, it’s uncomfortable?”

“Have you ever done it? Gone commando?”

Her whole body seems to firm up in indignation. “No.”

“Well...”

With a huff, Betty turns aside, not sure what to do with the messy garment in her hands. He puts his palm over hers, trapping it between them. “Hey. We can keep these as a memento, or we can wash them out and hang them in my closet until they’re dry. You’re a rebel now, remember? You do what you want.”

“Right,” she nods, nails gently pulling at his skin. “Okay. We’ll wash them out.” As she bends over to reach for his jeans, he pulls her back against him.

“Whoa whoa whoa, where do you think you’re going?”

Her eyebrows push together in confusion. “To wash up, Juggie.”

“I seem to recall you didn’t get a chance to properly finish.”

“Oh.” Like a lightning bug on a summer’s day, heat flashes and fades in her eyes. “You don’t have to. I’ve already had a lot of excitement today.”

“I could tell.” His hands start to wander, splaying across her skin, sliding towards her slickness. A gentle hum of affection swells in his chest, his smile caught by her eyes. “I want to.”

Licking her lips, Betty glances at the clock. “Okay. But you only have five minutes left of the boyfriend break.”

“Plenty of time,” he grins, leaning forward until their lips are only breath apart. This time, he might try to taste _her_ , the same way she'd tasted him. Inquisitive Betty inspires a kiss, the seal of his longing a promise of more to come.

 

As luck would have it, Pop calls during the tail end of their last designated boyfriend break. Jughead’s fist is in Betty’s ponytail, her tongue down his throat. They break apart like shrapnel, fumbling for his cell phone.

“Heyyyy Pop, how’s it going?” Jughead clears his throat, fully aware of the unusual lilt to his voice. It’s reminiscent of his prepubescent  _change_ voice, the one that croaked and peaked every third syllable until settling where it should be.

“You two staying out of trouble?”

“You know it,” he chuckles, tugging nervously at his beanie. Betty crosses her legs, touching her lips and glancing over like she's swelling up and stung. “I take it this call means the lunch rush has subsided?”

“Well, for the most part. You kids sit tight and I’ll be there in a flash.”

“Sounds great. See you then.”

He lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. “So. Guess it’s time to roll back the TV and see how your things are doing.”

“Let’s get to it.” Betty arches an eyebrow, dignity personified despite the fact that both she and Jughead know she’s not wearing anything under those light wash jeans.

Clearing their throats, they keep flirting with the idea of holding hands in the hallway, her fingers occasionally smoothing her ponytail, his pushing absently at the roll-away TV stand. The janitor pops out of a classroom ahead, and Jughead would laugh at Betty’s jumpy demeanor if he wasn’t a little on edge himself.

“It’s okay, Betts. I don’t think he’s aware that you’ve joined the rebel forces.”

“You’re the one who _branded_ me, Jug, so I suggest you be careful too, lest he discover your love for vandalism and markings.”

“Among other things.”

The smile she throws at him warms and wiggles its way up his gut, a hint of genuine affection taking root in their banter.

Embarrassed by the idea of the janitor catching them, Betty makes Jughead stand sentinel outside of the closet while she does a quick change. They manage to return the half-watched DVDs and television to their stations and get back to the classroom before Pop returns, all thick limbs and white bags. Jug hurries to help with the haul, Betty close behind.

“Pop! Why didn’t you call us? We could’ve helped you carry this in.” Betty carefully cradles the bags in her arms, taking them from Pop with all the gentleness of transferring a baby.

Breath shaking at the effort of relinquishing his burden, Pop lets his arms fall to his sides. “You can’t leave the school in the middle of detention.” Jughead exchanges a sly glance with Betty, biting down their smiles just like when they’d sneak all the pink Starburst out of Archie’s and Polly’s packets. Pop muscles his waistband into proper order with a determined look on his face. “Besides, I’ve carried enough orders in my day to be able to handle it.”

“Not a doubt in my mind,” Jughead provides, taking a deep sip of the nondescript milkshake in his hands. It’s strawberry. The heaviness of the ice cream sinks down his insides with a satisfying coolness. He toasts the other to-go milkshake in Betty’s direction. “For you, Betts.”

With dedicated efficiency, Betty divides the food and lays out napkins on each desk for _optimal consumption_. He eyes his burger hungrily, fingers edging around the spongy bun. “This is _way_ better than anything we’ve ever had in the cafeteria.”

“Glad to hear it, though I’m not sure that’s much of a compliment,” Pop chuckles, wiping his brow with a handkerchief and sinking into the teacher’s desk chair. Jughead’s tongue swells, prodding the juicy hamburger in his mouth to one side of his cheek to try and absorb the obscene amount of saliva gathering at the thought of unraveling Betty on that desk.

Yep.

He was probably not gonna learn, let alone _think_ about anything in this classroom other than the sounds he could pull from the most fantastic girl in the universe.

Betty’s subtly shakes her head, _Don’t get all weird in front of him._

 _Right. Well, not weirder than normal_ , he clears his throat, trying to find a topic to distract them.

Pop’s leaning back with his puzzle book, glancing between the two of them with curiosity.

“Did you ever serve detention, Pop?”

“No.” His exaggerated brow and affronted concern is kind of hilarious.

“I mean, you never know. Sometimes it’s the nice ones you have to watch out for.” Jughead winks at Betty, sucking on his thumb for effect. She shoots him a little glare, her recently redone ponytail swaying with mock disapproval.

“Oh, I doubt that,” Pop laughs, a low, gravelly, rumble. “You certainly don’t have to watch out for me. The most I did was copy a friend’s assignment one time when I forgot.”

Jughead presses a hand to his chest. “Scandalous! And here I thought you were the moral backbone of this town.”

“Well, I thought it was Betty Cooper and Jughead Jones, yet here we all are in detention,” Pop chuckles.

Betty’s smile widens in delight, and she's kind enough to share it with him _and_ Pop, even though Jughead and her know it isn't true. Gosh, she’s fucking adorable. Sexy. Smart. Compassionate.

Laughing with Betty and Pop, it’s like every awful thing in this town melts away. His fingers sink further into his burger as if it’ll keep the moment alive for longer.

“So what did you have for lunch, Pop? I doubt you trekked back to the diner every day.”

“To be honest, I rarely ate from the cafeteria either. Coming from a family of cooks meant a lot of home cooked meals, a lot of them prepared myself. Chicken. All kinds of sandwiches.” Pop flips the pages of his puzzle book like he’s picking at the layers on a bun to see what ingredients lay underneath.

“That sounds nice.” Betty's looking at Pop with every ounce of earnest interest. “My mom mostly packs me salads, or turkey on wheat. Not because she loves doing it or anything. She just doesn’t trust the cafeteria.”

“Does she trust me?” Pop chuckles at the question they all know the answer to.

Betty manages a smile, picking at her sandwich in a way that makes Jughead ache to hold her fingers. “My mother doesn’t really _trust_ people. I’m pretty sure she’d raise and kill the turkey itself if we had the room for it.” Although they all chuckle, Jughead knows the joke betrays some deeper issues on Betty’s mind.

“Hey, the argument can be made that I eat Pop’s almost every day and still passed the Presidential Fitness Award crap in gym, therefore it's probably all protein and can absolutely be trusted. Maybe I should bring that up tonight.”

“Yes, you’re a modern marvel,” she smiles fondly, leaning forward to take a heartier bite of her sandwich.

It’s a small mission, to make her comfortable, but Jughead feels a flash of pride every time he manages it. Pop hums a little, and by his knowing expression, Jughead wonders if he’s been caught gazing at his new beau for a bit too long. The guard he's kept up so long seems to have been demolished with a fantastic bang, or the scrape of a marker against skin. Remembering his own mark, he shows off the ink to Pop, who laughs, absolutely delighted, and asks him to sport it next time he's in Pop's so he can put it up on the Wall of Fame, which basically only consists of Jughead, who probably eats more burgers than the rest of the town combined.

They chat about Pop’s times at Riverdale High. Sadly, no one ever ordered a pizza to the classroom, although as it turns out their senior prank was for everyone to bring a dog to class and try to make them howl.

Betty’s face morphs into awe. “Oh that’s adorable. Please tell me there were puppies.”

Before Pop can answer, Jughead rolls his eyes. “Our prank is probably going to be something stupid involving those latex Bulldog masks. What the hell is with Reggie and those guys anyway? They smell awful, and it’s not like they _breathe_.”

“The masks?” Betty clarifies, small smile playing at her lips. “Don’t worry, Juggie. I’m sure as an investigative duo we can find something better. Like puppies for a day. Maybe we can find one like Hot Dog.”

Affection thrums deep in his veins that she remembers his childhood sheepdog and friend.

The slap of Pop's hands on armrests draw him out of his reverie. “Well, kids, it’s been a pleasure serving detention with you, but we are free to go. Back to work!”

“Already? But we were just getting started! Let me _learn_.” Jughead throws his arms around Betty and her desk, pretending to anchor himself to the whole thing.

“Come on, Jug. We have a lot of stuff to do. And if you want to, we can always get detention next week.”

He swallows at the offhanded implication, Betty’s eyes purposely, demurely on her bag. “Really?”

“Really.”

Pop sags backwards by the door, pushing at the dip in his spine. “Now don’t you go misbehaving on me again. I expect to see you kids for lunch next Saturday.”

“Come on back! We’ll be happy to have ya!”

Pop fixes him with a firm stare, enough so that Jughead begrudgingly unwraps his limbs from Betty’s desk and gets to his feet. They’ve left a pencil in the window, just in case they need to sneak back in tonight to grab his things. It’s weirdly exciting to think about sneaking around the school with her _again_. Detention hasn’t been so much being forced to stay in one place as it has been enjoying and exploring that place with Betty.

“Pop,” he nods, saluting on his way out. Betty holds the outer door for both of them, the janitor seeming to notice them and nod in greeting for the first time. Betty flashes him a Cooper smile and Jughead _swears_ the guy blushes. It’s sort of creepy, but it's not like he can blame him. “See you next week,” Jughead calls, earning a smack in the chest. “I didn’t _just_ mean detention,” he laughs. “I could just...see him. Around. During normal school hours.”

“Mmhmm,” she arches an eyebrow. “Whatever you say, Bender.”

They make sure Pop gets to his car under the pretense of Betty needing to wait for a ride from her mom.

“What do we do now?” His fingers twitch, and detective extraordinaire that she is, Betty links them with her own. Everything instantly feels better. More solid.

“We go home.”

 _Home_ , he thinks mildly, lost in her green gaze. A goofy grin takes over his face. Knowing Betty, she'll carve out a place for him in her house, maybe on her bed. He could write with her.  _On_ her. She certainly took advantage of that privilege on him today. Entire ridiculous fantasies play out in his brain until he tucks away to relish the present.

“So this is it, huh? This is what it’s like to go into detention and come out triumphant?”

“Basically,” she shrugs. “You ready to do the thing?”

He lifts their joined hands in questioning, her bright little smile urging him on. They celebrate with the most glorious fist pump in creation, _The Breakfast Club’s Soundtrack_ a tacky bit of nothing compared to the sound of Betty Cooper’s laugh.

They hear the manufactured sound of a shutter click, and whip around to see Pop Tate leaning out of his car window, a white iPhone of questionably modern make propped up in his hand. He lowers it a bit sheepishly. “Just a little memory of our first and last detention together.”

“Well, the first _something_ ,” Betty amends, squeezing his hand with a sly little smile that makes his stomach tumble and eyelashes flutter.

“Yeah. It's definitely _something_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And thus the investigation continues...ANOTHER DAY. May I just say I love Betty and Jughead? This was an ode to the seriously supportive, slightly kinky, fantastic sense of humor bughead things @thetaoofbetty crafts for the fandom. Hopefully you all saw those endearing traits or latched onto something amazing like Pop Tate being a sub and Reggie being an amusing idiot. As the kind of person who tends to devour mysteries, I have surprisingly little patience for writing them so hopefully the little investigative duo parts were fun for you as well. Also I'm sorry I didn't write out Betty's turn to finish but this chapter was so long already I figured I'd leave SOMETHING to the imagination hahaha.
> 
> How do we think the Coopers are gonna enjoy dinner tonight? Eh? What kind of social media do we think Pop has? I'm pretty sure he took a video instead of a picture. Is he gonna start the #Bughead trend ahead of Veronica? Haha the girl would FLIP if she found out that way. But they're cute enough where people MIGHT think it's platonic, right? Right?! They will have zero chill about hiding their relationship after this. I mean, in canon Jughead's hands and legs were all up on Betty pretty soon after they kissed so I wouldn't be surprised if next time they get a detention they drag each other into his "nap closet" and have some wicked "boyfriend break time." Who's more likely to get detention and for what? Or together for breaking and entering again? XD Fav moments? All the love? The touches and glances and ridiculous references? I love words, so send me some here or at tumblr @loveinapastlife and have a great day! ^-^


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